


The Crossroads

by standtooclose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 35,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standtooclose/pseuds/standtooclose
Summary: Life isn't what it seems.There are shadows lurking in every corner.  There are creatures that feed on human minds and hearts; creatures that posses human beings; creatures that can steal your form.  They are all real.The Winchesters--brothers that have been hunting these creatures their whole lives--are being hunted down, and their friend, Castiel, has disappeared.When Dean Winchester sells his soul to save his brother Sam, he doesn't realize that he only has a month to live.  And with Castiel gone, there may be no hope for saving Dean.They must run from this terrible fate, or the demons will take what is theirs, and the Winchesters must survive what is coming for them.   But will they be able to defeat this threat among them, or will this finally be their last fight?





	1. Prologue

"Honestly, I think the world is going to end bloody.

But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight.

We do have a choice."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

~~~~~

 

Prologue

 

He didn't expect life to be this way.

Saving people, hunting things. The family business. It all started when he was four years old--when his mother had burned. He didn't know what was going on, but he had heard the story a thousand times.

 

"Come on, let's say goodnight to your brother," Mary Winchester murmured softly to Dean, her white nightgown brushes against her legs as she herded her son into the nursery.

"Night Sam," Dean whispered as he ran over to his brother's crib, planting a kiss on his forehead. Mary smiled at the sight, brushing her newborn child's cheek. He was a special little thing, and she loved him dearly.

"Hey, Dean," a voice said from behind them. Dean instantly turned around, a smile forming across his lips with delight. It was John Winchester.

"Daddy!" The boy exclaimed, rushing towards him. John lifted his son up.

"So," his father said with a grin, "do you think Sam's ready to toss around a football yet?" Dean shook his head 'no', laughing slightly. Sam was only a few weeks old; Dean could barely catch a ball, and he was four years old.

"No, Daddy," Dean grinned. John threw his head back and laughed with amusement.

"No, I guess not," John replied, and then turned to leave the room.

"You got him?" Mary asked John as she passed him.

"I got him," he confirmed. He squeezed his son tight in his arms, and then looked over at his newborn son, a soft smile spreading across his lips. "Sweet dreams, Sam," he murmured, turning off the bedroom's light before leaving the room.

~

Mary was asleep in her room when the sudden sound of the baby monitor went off. Sam was crying in distress. She grimaced slightly, turning over to turn on the light, and the whole room was illuminated by the yellow color. "John?" She whispered, but no one answered.

She shrugged and hoisted herself off the bed, tiredly stepping out of her room to the nursery. Slowly, she walked down the dark hall of the house, her steps creaking as each foot touched the ground.

But when she had reached the nursery, a dark silhouette stood before the crib. "Is he hungry?" The female asked, assuming it was John. A low whistle sounded from her husband, telling her to be quiet. "All right," she said and walked away, knowing John could take care of Sam himself.

As Mary walked down the hallway, she noticed that the light was flickering, causing her to frown. "That's weird," she whispered to herself, tapping it lightly until it steadied. Usually the lights were fine.

She walked down the stairs as she heard the sound of the television being turned on, and she peaked around the corner to find a man sleeping on the couch, and a loud snore came from his mouth. It was John's awful, yet calming, sound.

But if John is here... Then... "Sam!" She exclaimed, quickly running back up the stairs, her heart hammering against her chest. "Sammy!" She cried, as she was halfway down the hall.

She stopped short as she entered the dark room, her eyes lying upon a yellow-eyed man. But before she could do anything, everything blacked out, and she found herself falling.

John awoke to the sound of Mary screaming. "Mary?" Why was she screaming? Was Sam all right? "Mary!" He yelled as she didn't respond.

He quickly got off the couch; running to the nursery, fear overwhelming him. But as he reached the nursery, there was nothing there but Sam in his crib. He looked unsettled, but everything seemed fine. He must have been hearing things.

"Hey, Sammy, everything okay?" He murmured, slowly cradling the child in his arms, letting out a soft, calming whistle to calm him down.

"There, there..." He whispered. But as he continued to calm the child down, a dark liquid dripping onto the child's head. Frowning slightly, he touched it to find that it smelled like rust—the odor of blood. "What the Hell..."

John looked up at the ceiling, but the whole world stopped at what he saw. Mary. A gash was in her stomach, but that wasn't what unsettled him. She was sprawled against the ceiling as if she was on the ground, and nothing was holding her up against it. It was like... magic. Or as if someone was holding her up there with invisible hands.

John looked into her eyes. She was alive—but she wasn't at the same time. "Mary..." She didn't respond. A sob escaped his lips, and he could hardly breathe. He had never seen anything more horrible in his life.

He let out another cry, but before he could react and help his wife, a burst of flames enveloped him, consuming his wife into nothingness. He let out a scream, clutching Sam in his arms and running out of the room, finding Dean in the middle of the hallway.

"Daddy?" He said tiredly.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don't look back!" He ordered his brother, but Dean hesitated. "Now, dean. Go!" Dean immediately obliged, taking his brother in his arms and ran down the stairs, hopefully somewhere safe.

John turned around to look into the room, the blaze of fire blinding his gaze. He couldn't see anything but the melting colors of red and yellow. But death screamed in his ears, and told him there was nothing he could do.

"No!" Mary was in there... But she was probably—no, not probably, for what he saw.

His gut told him to save her, but his instincts told him to run. His legs chose to run. Hesitantly, the male dashed out of the house, finding both his sons outside the house, and the sound of sirens could already be heard. Immediately, he ran towards them, grasping the two in his arms.

"I got you," he said in a panicked voice, getting them away as the sound of an explosion blasted behind them.

The Lawrence fire department had arrived, and John and his sons watched as the firefighters extinguished the flames that had taken his home—his beloved wife—as they sat on the hood of their 67' Chevy Impala.

He wasn't sad, he found. But he was angry. A fire couldn't just happen like that, nor could she be on ceiling... Something darker was going on, and he was going to find out.

His eyes burned into the smoke and remnants of his house. Revenge, he thought, was the only answer to this. Whoever—whatever—did this to his wife, he would murder them, and even if it were the last thing he'd ever do.There was nothing left of his home or mother. And since that day, he has been hunting ever since. They had avenged her death, but continued to hunt demons and other creatures of the world. Dean had died many times, saving the world, but he had always come back. His father never did when he sold his soul to save Dean (they had gotten into a car crash, and John offered his soul for Dean's life.)

Dean didn't know it until years later, but the demon had given Sam these abilities to kill and de-possess a demon with the flick of his hand. Sam had become a monster--he was addicted to demon's blood--but they soon figured out how to save him. 

They've been on the road ever since, never looking back, even when things got hard. But sometimes he wished they had never gotten into this horrible life. 

 

~

 

He didn't know how he got to here.

Dean stood at a crossed road, burying a tin box with his ID, graveyard dirt and a bone from a black cat. He watched his brother get shot, who is now rotting in Hell. His hands clenched into fists as the crossroad demon didn't appear. "God dammit, just show your self!" He snarled, turning around in a circle. Nothing. Not a god damned word.

When Dean was about to walk away, a voice purred, "Oh, Dean. How impatient you are." Dean whirled around and glared.

"Took you long enough." He stood a safe distance away, clenching the demon's blade in his hand.

"What does the last Winchester brother want from a demon?" The demon asked, walking closer. It was a female vessel with blonde, silk-like hair. Her eyes her crimson, slitted in the middle. But her body was slim and beautiful, her face was perfectly cut and her voice was like a ripple in a stream.

"You know what I want," Dean snarled, holding the blade up, threatening to stab her if she came closer. Though, if they ended up making the deal, they'd have to kiss on the lips. It was the rule to fulfill any bargain from a demon.

"Your brother is long gone, Dean. What is the point on resurrecting him, anyways? Haven't you boys avoided Death enough?" The demon tilted her head, giving a wolfish, playful smile. Dean frowned.

"Bring my brother back, and I will give you my soul. Isn't that good enough? Letting my brother live, and you will get my life?" He couldn't live thinking that his brother was rotting in Hell, being tortured and ripped apart... until he broke and couldn't handle it any longer. He shivered at his own memories.

Years ago, he had made a bargain to save Sam's life and was given one year. The hellhounds soon found him and torn him into shreds, and then he had a trip to Hell for four years. But it felt like forty. In Hell, time is shorter and makes you live through every moment. He lived through it all, being tortured, ripped apart, then brought back together to only endure more, and once you broke, you became a demon yourself and tortured other souls. He didn't want Sam to go through that any longer.

The demon considered it and smiled. "Deal. Your life for Sam's. But beware, once your time is up, there is no running away from your fate. If you so happen to sidestep this once again, we're dragging you and Sam down to Hell." The demon warned.

Dean nodded and pressed his lips against the crossroad demon's lips to fulfill the bargain. He didn't bother to ask how many years he had. It was either one or ten, and as long as Sam came back from the dead, he would be okay. He didn't care.


	2. Before - 1

"You are my brother.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

~Sam Winchester, Supernatural

 

 

Before

It all happened so fast.

Sam shouldn't have pushed him to do this case, but Sam had been so desperate. Desperate to take down those wretched, black-eyed demons. Dean thought it wasn't a good idea, and Sam had this feeling in my bones that it wasn't, but we were so close...

"Flickering lights, black-eyed man, possession and strange black smoke. Doesn't it sound just like demons?" Sam showed Dean the article. Twenty-seven year old man--who lives in Oklahoma City--claimed that he was possessed by a demon. He is currently on trial for murdering thirty men and women in a bank, and then twenty others in a park. The man claims that it wasn't him, and that a demon--or whatever it could have been--controlled him and made him kill all of those men and women. That all happened in one day, and that was just one. There are countless other murders by this one man in one week. This article went on and on, and there is no hope on this guy.

"I know that it sounds like a demon case, but I don't think we should check this one out. Not this time, Sammy." Why didn't he want to do this case? Yes, maybe it wasn't such a good idea, but they hadn't done a case in so long, even if this demon sounds crazy as fuck.

"C'mon, Dean. We have taken down so many other demons and monsters, whom have done way worse. We opened the gates of Hell, we have encountered angels..." It was true. When they opened the gates to Hell, they didn't realize the consequences. Hundreds--thousands--of demons were set loose, including a demon named Lilith that wanted their heads on a plate. They did end up sealing it and killing most of the demons--including Lilith--and saving the world several times. And they have encountered many angels--made friends with some, as well, but most wanted them wanted them dead as well. They didn't believe in angels at first, but when they met Castiel--their angel friend, whom has a certain bond with Dean--they started to have faith, and even were convinced God was real.

"You think I don't know that? We have dodged Death so many times and we have always come back. We have killed hundreds of demons and other creatures. But, one day, what if we don't survive? What if we fail? I don't want that happening to you, Sammy. Sometimes even the Winchesters need a break." Dean said, leaning back in the booth of the diner. People around them talked, completely not interested in their conversation. Dean took a sip of his coffee and had finished his blueberry pie.

"Dean, I know. You're worried about my safety, but I'm not a little boy anymore. I haven't been for a while. You don't need to protect me," Sam replied. He didn't need protecting. He could completely take care of himself, and he had been hunting his entire life. 

Dean sighed and set his black coffee down. "Sam, you're my little brother. Of course I will always protect you, even if you say you aren't a little baby anymore."

"If you aren't going on this case, then I'm doing this alone. I won't let another demon roam around without learning its' lesson." Sam said. He wouldn't back down, even if there was that feeling of not doing this. That something could go wrong... but couldn't everything go wrong? Like riding a car and having the risk of crashing... Or eating food and have the risk of choking, or an allergic reaction? Every hunter also has it's risks, and he knew that, but he couldn't be afraid because of it.

"I won't let you do this alone. But if anything--even if it's small--goes wrong or doesn't seem right, we're getting out of there." Dean held a finger out, pointing at him. Sam rolled his eyes and nodded.

"We're the Winchesters. Nothing should go wrong."

 

~

 

The impala hummed down the road, classic rock playing from its' radio. Sam and Dean drove towards Oklahoma City and had tracked down the demon. Dean still believed something bad could happen, but Sam just shrugged it off. They were the Winchesters, the most bad-ass hunters in the world. Every demon and angel feared them, and they could survive anything. He wouldn't let one case get under their skin.

The last case they had dealt was shape-shifters. Things didn't entirely go as planned, and they accidentally killed an old woman, believing it was the shape-shifter, but she was actually just a human. The shape-shifter got away and took the form of a police-officer, whom ended up killing the entire station and taking their forms. They soon found it and gutted that bastard, but Dean has been furious and un-inspired ever since. He didn't know what happened to him, because they had ended up being separated for some time, and he wouldn't talk about it. But Dean had his reasons.

The impala's humming lowed and then stopped. They stared at an old cabin, which had been the last place where they had known where this demon was. It ended up possessing a new vessel, and had been said that it ran off, camping here. At least, that's what the vessel's wife had told them.

The cabin was quite sketchy. With it's old, moss covered logs, broken windows and blood covered steps. Yep, the demon definitely was here. And it probably still was, because a light flickered inside. Sam got out of the impala and walked to the trunk, swinging it open. He went into the secret compartment, which contained: demon blades, salt guns, salt, silver, stakes, etc... He passed a demon blade to Dean, then took one for himself. The trunk had a demon-ward on the inside, preventing any demon from getting in. Or, it was perfect enough to kidnap one and store it in there until they got back to the bunker and chained them up for interrogation.

Dean nodded to Sam, telling that he was ready, then the crept towards the cabin. They carefully walked up the gravel path, up the old, wooden steps and stood before the cabin's door. Sam held up three fingers and counted down silently. Then when he reached one, Dean kicked open the door and ran in. Sam ran in behind him, holding up the flashlight.

Nothing.

Sam sighed and walked down the short, dark hall, while Dean went up the stairs. There were two doors. Sam opened the one on the right, his heart hammering and his breath caught as he held the blade up.

Nothing.

Relief hit him like a bat, then rechecked, still seeing nothing, and closed the door. He turned to the left. Something in him told him not to, that it was a bad idea, but he put his hand on the knob and turned it slowly. The door creaked open and revealed darkness. Sam held the flashlight up, walked in, and then looked around. The floorboards creaked with each step, echoing through the empty, small room.

Nothing.

When he thought the room was empty, he turned around, but before he did, something caught his eye. A dark figure, standing in the corner and facing the wall. Sam's heart beat so fast, he could hear it. He didn't realize that he wasn't breathing. He turned slowly around, the flashlight's light beaming over the man--no, the demon. A low, horrible sounding laugh came from it. Sam gulped and stared at it, unsure of what to do. It just stood there... But as soon as the laughing stopped, a hand clasped around his throat. The demon was as fast as lightning... Sam gasped and the hand clenched tighter around his throat, making him let out wheezing, small breaths. Until he couldn't breath in one. He couldn't breath.

"Dean--" He croaked, but the demon clenched harder and harder. Sam lifted the blade, but it dropped from his hand. His body was shaking, fighting to get away. The demon was too strong. It's black, silky hair almost touched his face because of how close it was. His red eyes beamed with amusement and pleasure. "Dean--" He tried again, but it was barely a whisper.

"There's nothing," Dean called from upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the cabin. Sam's eyes bulged and felt his eyes droop. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, leading, down, down, down... "Sam?" Dean called, then he was beside him. The demon snarled and let go and was thrown against the wall. "Sam!" Sam gulped for air, his senses coming back. But as he opened his eyes, Dean laid unconscious beside him, bleeding from his head.

"Dean?" Sam turned over, trying to reach him. Before he could, the demon dragged Sam away, its' vessel's claws digging into his skin. Sam yelped and thrashed against him, but its' hands were like iron. Too strong, too strong. He was going to die. He knew it then, and he didn't fear it.

"You Winchesters thought you could kill me? No. I am Goliath, and I will not be defeated. You Winchesters may be good, but I am better." The demon said in a non-human voice. Then an excruciating pain jolted from his stomach and throughout his body. Sam's eyes bulged and curled into a ball and immediately moved his hands to his stomach. He flinched and withdrew them, seeing blood covering his hands.

The demon stabbed him... He truly was going to die.

"Sam?" Dean's voice murmured from behind him. Sam turned around, his eyes burning with tears. "Sam..."

"Goodbye, Dean," Sam whispered, and then the world turned black.


	3. Now - 2

"I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

 

Now

Darkness... No air... He couldn't breathe...

When he gasped for a breath, small, tight air went into his lungs. Not enough. He needed to breathe. Breathe. But he couldn't, and this... place was dark and suffocating. Where was he? What happened? The last thing he remembered was being stabbed and Dean, then... nothing. Everything had turned black. Was he in Hell? He must be dead, in a cage and rotting.

But there was no torture, pain, or demons. He was in a dark place with no air. He had to get out. Sam clawed at the walls, but they weren't walls. It was... soil? He didn't care, exactly, what it was. He just needed to get out of here.

Earth crumbled onto his face, escaping into his mouth. Sam cringed and spat it out, then he continued to claw at the soil. His fingers were raw and his nails broke. He let out a frustrated cry, then finally, after who knows how long, light escaped from above. Sam smiled and forced himself through the small hole, breathing. He could breathe. Beautiful, extraordinary air flowed down his lungs as he hulled for it. The air was beautiful and sweet, but the light of day blinded him. He was... alive!

He finally got out of that hole, realizing it was a grave. A cross made from wood was stuck in the ground, shadowing over the soil. He had died and he was buried. Why wasn't he burned? And what had Dean done?

He stumbled away, his throat wheezing and dry. He walked through a field with dead grass and trees, until he found a road. He smiled and followed North, hoping it would bring him to a town. And a phone.

The day was excruciatingly hot, making sweat bead down his forehead. He took off his plaid, flannel shirt and stumbled down the street, soon gaining his balance. He needed water and a phone. And he needed them fast. So he continued up in the horribly, hot day. No cars passed and there was no sign of a town for miles.

Until he came across a beautiful, beautiful gas-station. He smiled and walked towards it. No cars were parked here, and the lights were off. The 'open sign' was off, which probably meant that it was closed. He latched a hand on the handle and tugged at it, but it didn't budge. He sighed and took his flannel and punched the glass, letting it break and crumble on the ground. He made sure there was no extra glass on the door until he unlocked it, then walked inside. He immediately headed towards the fridge, grabbing a dozen water bottles and chugging down two.

He grabbed a bag and chucked water and food into it, then once it was full, he headed towards the phone. He didn't have change. He sighed and opened the cash register, taking tens, twenties and fives and a handful of change. He didn't entirely feel bad for doing this. Though, stealing this could put these people in debt or great tragedy... He shrugged it off and headed towards the pay phone, then punched in Dean's number and waited.

It beeped for a couple rings, then finally, he picked up. "Dean Winchester. Who is this?"

Sam let out a cry of happiness and said, "Dean, it's me, Sam." Dean was silent for a moment. What if he didn't believe it? Took it as a horrible joke? But he must have had something to do with this. And Dean had once been risen from Hell because of Castiel. Dean would probably believe him.

"Sam?" It sounded like he was crying... Then he mumbled something that sounded like 'it worked...' "Is it really you?"

"Yeah, it's me. I'm... alive." He was relieved that Dean didn't hang up. He expected that. but he was probably going to have to go through some procedures before Dean actually believed. Silver, holy water...

"I can't believe it... Where are you?"

Sam thought for a moment and looked around. Then he found a sign that said... "Big Bear's Gas Station. Three Kilometres from Lawrence, Kansas." He dug his grave outside of Lawrence... where he was born and where their mother died... He didn't want to think about that.

"Just stay there. I'll send Cas." Then Dean hung up. Sam was disappointed, but he obeyed and sat down, waiting.

He waited, for who knows how long, when he heard wings. Sam looked up, jumping back as Cas stood before him. His face was emotionless at first, but then a big smile showed on his face. "You are back from the dead!" He exclaimed.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and stood up. Before he could say anything, Cas gave him a suffocating, long hug. "You're... choking... me..." Sam got out. Then Cas pulled away and was still smiling.

Then Cas' smile faded. "How are you back from the dead?" Sam didn't know...

"I thought you raised me from Hell..." Sam's voice trailed off at Cas' confused look. Dean did something. Bad. He knew it, and it wasn't gonna be pretty. Cas' stood there, looking down, then finally looked back. He furrowed his eyebrows, then before Sam could object, he placed two hands on his shoulders. He teleported him to the bunker.

It looked exactly how he remembered it. The short, two wooden tables. The bookshelves with lores about demons, angels, monsters and so many others things... The wooden and pavement floors and stone walls with lights illuminating over everything. He smiled as he took it all in. It was as if he hadn't seen this place for years... But maybe it had been that long. He didn't even know how long he was dead for. And why Dean brought him back...

When Sam was done dazing about being home, he spotted Dean from across the room. He was smiling and his eyes were red with tears. Sam didn't know what to say... He was just so overwhelmed with everything, and so happy to be back and see him. Instead of saying anything, Sam walked up to him and gave him a long hug. Dean clung onto him, not wanting to let go. Sam didn't want to, either. He was just so happy to see his brother.

After minutes of hugging, Dean pulled away and said, "I am so happy you're back."

Sam nodded. But why didn't he put him through the procedures? Why didn't he think he was a demon or a shape-shifter? Dean definitely had something to do with this. "Why am I back?"

Dean was silent for a moment. "I don't know. That's what we're trying to figure out, ourselves."

"And you don't think i'm a demon or a shape-shifter?" Sam asked, testing him. Perhaps Dean was testing him, himself. But he didn't know.

"First of all, Cas can tell when someone is a demon. Second of all, I'm wearing a silver ring right now, which isn't burning your skin." Dean said and laughed a bit. Sam laughed as well. Maybe he was wrong about Dean. Maybe he had nothing to do with this. But who would want him alive?

But they shouldn't worry about that right now. They had each other, and Cas, and they were the Winchesters. Even if they have made mistakes and gotten killed a bunch of times, they would survive everything. They have dodged death dozens of times and killed hundreds of creatures of the world.


	4. Lies - 3

"They say before you start a war,

You better know what you're fighting for."

~Castiel, Supernatural

 

Lies

He sold his soul for Sam.

At least he gets to live a full, happy life. But would he hate him for doing so? He was alive, but his brother had to pay the price. And when would the hellhounds come for him? Ten years? One? He didn't know. Just as long as Sam got to live, everything would be alright. But would Sam actually be okay with his brother dying for him? He should, because it's done and there was no way out of it.

They didn't hunt for a couple of days. They just stayed in the bunker, binge watching Orange is The New Black, because Cas had convinced them to do so. You'd think an angel would be against that show, but Cas was different from other angels. More... human-like. 

Sam was snoring on the couch of the library, a book over his head. Dean rolled his eyes, happy for him. He got to live a long, happy life. And for Dean... he would die for him in whatever time he had, and he would be okay. But he wouldn't tell Sam about it. Yet. He didn't want that worry and tragedy hitting him when he had just came back from the dead. He would tell him in a couple of days.

Cas was still watching OITNB. Dean snorted and said goodnight, then headed to bed himself. He had to rest up, even if he were a soon-to-be-dying man. He nuzzled into his warm blankets and fell asleep, nightmares corrupting him in his dreams.

 

~

 

He stared at the shining television, watching female jailers get beaten up, say strange human jokes, and... repeat. He didn't know why, but he was hooked on this show. But, how did orange correlate with black? And how in the name of the father could it be new? Castiel shrugged to himself and sat back, watching the show all night long. It's not like there was something else to do, even though he was an angel. 

"Morning," Cas jumped and turned around, finding Sam squinting at him with tired, human eyes. He had come back from the dead, defying the laws of physics. He still didn't know how he got out of Hell, because he didn't pull him out of perdition, nor did any other angel. Perhaps it was a demon? 

"Good morning," Cas said, turning around to Orange is the New Black once again. "This show is strange, but oddly entertaining. I find that I enjoy these 'chicks'."

"Yeah, I think you've been watching this for too long." Sam said, then turned off the television. Cas frowned, but then stood up a little too close to Sam. He understood 'personal space' and he took a step back.

"How are you, Sam?" The angel asked him. He needed to know if there were any strange side effects of what happened. Sam, possibly, might not fully be himself. Though, he has seemed fine all night, for what he's seen.

"I'm fine. I'm back from the dead magically, and nothing seems out of place." Sam told him with a smile. Though Cas was still suspicious. He needed to know what had happened, who raised him from Hell and how they did it. An angel could definitely do it. A demon with great power could do it as well, but why would they want another Winchester alive?

"I don't think you 'magically' were raised from perdition. And I don't understand why anyone would want to raise you from Hell. I mean, you are a Winchester, which has killed many demons and creatures. You are very in-famous."

"Thank, Cas, for stating your opinion." Sam said, furrowing his brows. He looked offended.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Sam." He apologized, his face showing no emotion. Sam nodded and patted him on the shoulder, walking the other way. He didn't tell him where he was going, but Cas decided to follow. Sam looked behind him and shrugged, then continued to walk. "Did I do something wrong to upset you?"

"No. I'm just going to check the lore." Dean had told him that he didn't want Sam to hunt for a while. Cas was about to stop him, but once they entered the library, Sam had already jumped to his laptop. Cas frowned and sat across from him, waiting.

Sam turned around his laptop and opened his mouth, then closed it. He was staring at something. Cas turned around, seeing Dean leaning on a bookshelf. "Sammy, I don't think you're ready to start hunting."

Sam frowned. "Dean, I'm not a little boy. It's just a harmless shape-shifter case." 

"Yeah, that's what you said last time. Then you were butchered by the demon!" It was true. Cas wasn't there, but from what he heard, he didn't like it. They ended up killing the demon. Dean did it slowly, though. Torture. You could hear the screaming from miles, but luckily they were in the country with no houses to be found for a hundred miles.

Sam stayed silent, glaring at the screen. Sam bit his lip then left the room, his hands clenching into fists and turned bone white. "I'll talk to him." Cas offered, then stood up, starting to walk after Sam. But Dean's hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him from doing so.

"Just let him be for now," Dean said, then sat in the chair, hands pressing in his eyes.

"Dean, are you okay?" Cas sat beside him, looking concerned. He didn't look like he had much sleep, and he seemed stressed. It might not be his place to ask, but Dean was his friend. 

Dean looked at Cas and shrugged. "It's nothing. Just a nightmare from last night," Cas wasn't convinced, and he could tell that Dean knew it, too. "Seriously, it's nothing."

Cas pursed his lips then shrugged it off. If Dean wasn't going to tell him the truth, then fine, he wouldn't ask more about it. He knew something was on Dean's mind, and it might not be good. It was stressing him out, and that wasn't good for humans--especially not good for hunters. "Whatever it is Dean, I'm here for you. But if you don't want to talk about it, then that's alright." Dean gave him a sad smile, then he walked off. Cas didn't follow him. He just sat there, leaning into the chair. 

Dean was lying to him, but he wouldn't press him into telling the truth. But soon, Dean was going to tell him or Sam if his stress didn't stop. And he couldn't help but think that Dean had something to do with Sam being raised from Hell.


	5. Haunted - 4

"Don't cry. We all make mistakes from time-to-time."

"Unfortunately for me, being me was mine."

~Sam and Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

Haunted

He couldn't hold his screams as his skin was peeled off him.

Hell. The placed he was condemned to live for eternity. The place where he was tortured and beaten, but he still held on. He still believed it would stop. But this pain... He felt it all the time. The ripping, the burning and excruciating pain of torture and his skin being peeled off in horrible, horrible ways. His scream echoed through the darkness, his eyes bulging as a knife cut down his stomach. He couldn't make the words of: stop, please... I'll do anything! He was too weak and hurt to do a damned thing.

The black and red eyes of demons shone with amusement at his pain. More pain, more blood. Just more and more and more, until there was nothing left. He gasped, his voice raw from screaming too much, but his tears streamed down his cheeks, running down and down and down, until they were drained dry. He had nothing to give. Nothing to fight for. He was going to die, even though he was dead, and bring him back to endure more torture, more pain. Why couldn't they ever have enough? Why couldn't they just say: it's done, and you can just rot in a cage for eternity. But they were demons, and pain and horror was like a television to them.

Just when he felt his heart stop from bleeding out and the excruciating and horrible pain, it started again and the pain was gone. Well, the physical pain, at least. Emotionally, that would never be fixed, and he knew what happened to Dean. He knew how he felt. He didn't know how long he was in Hell for, but it felt like ten years. It was: pain, torture, death, repeat. It never stopped. 

They cut him again, letting him scream in pain as they went deep, and deep and deeper until they hit bone. The knife cut into his rib cage, causing a crack and letting him explode with screams and cries. Horrible, horrible, horrible... Stop and let me rest! Let me rot in a cage of Hell and be forgotten! Just stop and let me be free! 

The demons snickered as if they read his mind and continued. No, no, no, no, no... Then a low, horrible growl sounded beside him, almost muffled as he heard ringing. It didn't come from a bell or machine. No, it came from the horrible pain that he endured for too long. His vision blurred, his breath grew intense and his heart pounded. His rib cage screamed in pain, but his fear was too great. Hell hounds. He wanted to scream in fury, beg them to stop. Why was he here? Why did the reaper bring him to Hell?

Then the growling stopped. He didn't know if his hearing faltered, but he knew it stopped. But just when he thought it was gone, a horrible screech of triumph came from the beast, and red eyes appeared, getting closer and closer and--

 

~

 

"Wake up!" A voice pleaded. "Sammy, wake up! It was just a dream." Sam gasped awake, sweat coating his bed and clothes. He looked around, his vision blurred but clearing from tears. He looked to the side, making out Dean. His heart still pounded, his hands shook and he could still feel that pain...

"You're safe now. You're home," Dean told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sam gulped, his body still shaking, but he seemed to calm down. He was home in the bunker. Dean was here. He wasn't in Hell any longer.

"Why am I back?" He asked him, staring at his brother with wide, sad eyes. Why was he back? He didn't deserve to live while millions of others have died, and they never came back. Why did he get to live? And how in the Hell did he get out?

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean told him sadly. "But be thankful you're out." He should, but he wasn't. He wanted to know why he got to live. Why he got to be the one saved all the time! He just wanted to die and rest in peace. 

"It never ends, does it?" Sam murmured, looking away towards nothing. Just darkness and... nothing.

"No. I don't think it ever will..." Dean said, then stood up. "Rest up. I'm just going to do some things, and I'll check up on you later." Then he was gone without letting him reply. He treated him like a boy. He was a man--a hunter that has been to Hell and back, whom has been a vessel for the Devil himself... But he just died and came back. Dean was right. And with that, he laid in bed, unmoving for the rest of the day.


	6. One Month - 5

"You wake up and your first thought is:

I can't do this anymore."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

One Month

The impala hummed down the road, it's black coat shining in the morning sun.

Dean sat in the driver's seat, while Cas sat in the passenger's. Ever since they had killed Lilith-- and for the consequence: opening up the last door to set Lucifer free--angels had fallen and couldn't teleport about, because in that moment, Castiel's Grace had been taken without his consent, and allowed Metatron to make the angels fall. Dean had thought it was because of the opening of the Gate, but Castiel had been tricked into Metatron's game. Dean didn't blame Cas for is naive decisions, but the angels were furious and hunted the human-Cas. Of course, Castiel had soon gotten his Grace back, but that didn't stop the angels from wanting his head on a pike.

They had put Lucifer back in his cage, but there were so many more consequences. So much more death. Demons had become restless under Crowley's hands, but at least they were controlled. But it hadn't stopped that demon from killing his brother--which led to him selling his soul for him. He didn't regret it one bit; as long as Sam was alive, he would be able to live his last breaths with ease and happiness. At least, he thought so.

Sam decided to stay in the bunker and rest--well, Dean practically made him do so, but he hadn't fought. He was relieved he had, because Sam himself was restless, wanting to do more hunting. Dean didn't think he was ready, even though he was perfectly fine. Maybe it was Dean that had to rest. But what was the point of lying around on your last years of life?

"Dean," Castiel said, bringing him out of his thoughts. "There is something... different about your behaviour." Cas said, furrowing his brows and looking at him.

He sighed and looked at Cas for a split second, then back to the road. Castiel must know, or at least he was suspicious. "My brother just came back from the dead without explanation, and you're worried about my behaviour?"

Castiel shook his head. "I understand that, Dean, but I don't think--"

Dean cut Cas off. "Just leave it be, Cas. I'm fine, and even if i'm acting different, it's not a big deal." He didn't need Cas to question him--to figure out the truth. But wouldn't it be good for someone to talk to? To tell Cas what he had done? No. He didn't need a lecture about it, and certainly not from his angel-friend.

"Whatever you say. I'm just worried that you're mind is on other things," Cas continued. Why couldn't he just leave it be? "I'm just trying to figure out how Sam came back, because I certainly didn't grip him tight from perdition. Something else had done this, and I don't like it. Something is going on."

"Maybe it was another angel? Perhaps a demon? But why should we care? Sam is back and that's it."

"Why aren't you worried, Dean? You sure aren't acting like yourself. If you had something to do with this--"

"Cas, seriously? You really think i'm that stupid to sell my soul?" He did, and he was that stupid. But he didn't give a damn about what he had done; he would sell his soul a thousand times again to save his brother from Hell. 

Cas let out a long sigh, his blue eyes glinting with something he couldn't place. "No. I know you'd think otherwise, because you know the consequences. You know what has happened all those other times you sold your soul--when Sam had done the same. I trust you Dean, but I won't just let this be. Sam wouldn't just be raised from Hell without an angel--or a demon--from setting him free. You and me both have seen this happen before."

"Maybe god isn't being a dick and raised him?" Dean suggested, but only received an exasperated look from Cas. He let out a snort and continued to drive. They were heading towards a site where a gruesome murder was placed. A man named George Miller, a twenty seven year old male, was found with all his internal organs--including his brain--were no where to be found. 

 

~

 

As they reached the site, Dean had pulled into a small, gravel parking lot. He removed the key, causing the humming of the engine to die, and the classic rock to switch off. Dean reached over Cas to the console and grabbed two badges. He passed one to Castiel and reminded him to take it out correctly, which he received a blush in response. He rolled his eyes and got out of the impala, not bothering to wait for Cas, and approached the sherif.

"Greetings, sherif," Dean said as the sherif turned to him. He showed his badge for a split second, then returned it to his pocket. "I'm agent Yansen, and this is my partner, agent Ronnaldson." He pointed his thumb in Cas' direction, whom hesitated to show his badge. Thankfully, he pulled it out of his pocket and revealed it correctly. His face was emotionless, but he could see the tension. 

"What brings you agents here?" The sherif asked, eying the two. Seriously? Did the sherif actually think that this body wasn't worth the FBI's time? Yes, they weren't actually real FBI agents. They were hunters, who tended to use fraud way too often.

"We were sent to inspect the crime scene," Dean told him, trying to ignore Cas' nervousness. "Would you mind to show us the body, or is it a problem?"

After a couple moments, the sherif finally replied. "No, it's not a problem at all. Come," the sherif began to walk away, expecting them to follow. Dean turned to Cas, rolling his eyes and began to follow the sherif. As they reached the body--which should have been removed the day before--he nearly barfed at the sight. His eyes were two feet from the body; the organs were missing, and the blood was spread everywhere, the top of his head was cracked open, missing the brain, and the bones were shattered. What had done this? He certainly didn't know the answer. Cas eyed the body, still showing no emotion.

"What do you think this was?" Dean whispered to Cas, kneeling beside the body. 

"I have no idea..." Cas replied, doing the same. The sherif turned away, exchanging words to an officer. Dean inspected the body, but didn't find anything out of the ordinary, besides the removed organs. "That's strange." He heard Cas murmur. 

"What is?" Dean asked, looking over to where Cas was inspecting. Before Cas answered, he noticed strange marks surrounding the body, which were drawn with blood. "What are those?"

"I have never seen them before. It's not a language I can depict..." Cas traced a finger on one of the marks, then removed it to sniff the blood. Dean cringed but didn't question it. "It's definitely his blood."

"Is it witch craft?" Dean got closer, getting a better look at the strange marks. What were they? He knew witches used hex bags to do their dirty work, but they didn't use these marks. "Maybe it's something new?"

"I don't know. We should probably search the lore." Cas said, standing up. Dean stood up as well, taking a big step back away from the body. It wasn't a hell hound, and it certainly wasn't witch craft. It could possibly be a werewolf, but they only took hearts. 

"Lets go," Dean said, then walked to the sherif. "Thank you for your time. If anything strange happens, give us a call." He handed the sherif his number, then left without waiting for his reply. He got into the impala and buckled up, starting the engine. The impala purred, making Dean grin. Such a beautiful sound. Once Cas got in, they headed back towards the bunker.

 

~

 

Once they had reached the bunker, they had right away searched the lore. They had found the same marks, but there wasn't much to them. They were a marks that summoned a 'Silentium'; a beast that feasted on internal organs, leaving only skin and bone. They could be killed by a wooden dagger, coated with human blood. It sounded easy, but they only showed themselves when they wanted to be shown. And only the summoner could see them without their consent, and to summon them... they had to sacrifice a cat and bathe in its blood. So this case was going to be harder than they thought. And what type of psycho bathed in cat blood?

They continued to search the lore, trying to figure out if there was another way, but they found squat. Dean let out an exasperated sigh and shut his book, then stood up. His stomach grumbled with hunger and said, "I'm going to get me some pie." 

"Would you let me to join you, or should I continue to search the lore?" Cas asked without looking from the lore.

Dean shook his head, cracking his knuckles. "You can stay here. I'll only be about twenty minutes." Before Cas could say anything else, Dean left the bunker and hopped into the impala. 

As he drove down the road, a woman appeared before him. He slammed on the breaks, nearly hitting her. "What the hell!" He exclaimed, jumping out of the impala. "Are you al--" He began, but the eyes flicked black, revealing that she was a demon. He cursed under his breath and crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

"Dean," the demon said, tilting her head. "There is something I must tell you."

"Then get on with it. You're starving me out!" Dean growled, his stomach growling sadly. This demon was wasting his time, and he was desperate for his pie. 

"About your contract... you were never informed on how long you have." The demon said, an edge to it. Dean frowned, remembering that he didn't bother to ask how long he had. But did it matter? "You only have a month. Currently, you only have twenty-eight days." Dean flinched at his time.

"A month?" He got out, his breath caught. His heart pounded, his mind swirled, not realizing his short amount of time. Your life for Sam's. But beware, once your time is up, there is no running away from your fate. If you so happen to sidestep this once again, we're dragging you and Sam down to Hell. He couldn't run from this one. He knew the consequences.

"You can't hide from your fate, Dean. I only came here to warn you. If you think about doing anything to get out of this, we will find you." Then the demon was gone, leaving Dean there paralyzed to his spot. A month? That's how long he had? He honestly didn't expect that. There were consequences for everything, and because he had been so desperate, he didn't even bargain for at least a year. He didn't ask to know how long he had! 

He only had twenty-eight says to live... Six hundred and seventy two hours... until he died and was dragged down to Hell.


	7. Tell Me - 6

"Closing your eyes to disappear, you pray your dreams will,

Leave you here, but still you, wake and know the truth,

No one's there..."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

 

Tell Me

Ever since Dean got back, he's acted... different.

He's been more on edge and there's something gloomy about his energy. He couldn't quite place what it was, but he knew his friend wasn't okay. "Dean, you can tell me what's on your mind." Castiel told him, tilting his head.

Sam was still in his room, not wanting to be bothered. Castiel wanted to talk to him, but Sam just shut the door and told him to go away. Perhaps he did something wrong. Humans were very unpredictable. Dean rubbed his temples, fixing his attention on a lore. "I don't want to talk about it." Was all he replied with.

Castiel frowned, leaning back in the chair. It was quite comfortable for a desk chair. "You shouldn't be keeping things inside. Express them!" Castiel urged. "I am your friend, and I worry about you."

"Well, you shouldn't," Dean snapped. Castiel flinched, not sure where that came from. What has he been doing to upset the Winchesters? You'd think they'd be happy, because Sam had just come back from the dead. Dean let out a long sigh and said, "I'm sorry, but I honestly don't think you'd want to hear my problems."

"Of course I'd want to hear them," Cas said, speaking the truth. "I have all the time in the world!" He had many, many years to live--he was an immortal.

Dean pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, thinking about something. Castiel watched expectantly, wanting to know what was on Dean's mind. "I messed up," he started, "I messed up real bad this time. Maybe it was for the greater good, but I realized that it was a very bad decision I had made." What did that mean?

"I'm sure you didn't mess up that bad. What did you do?" Castiel asked, wanting to know more. He didn't just want bits and pieces of a puzzle; he needed the whole thing.

Dean stared at Castiel for a long moment, he's eyes showing something he couldn't depict. Grief? Anger? He didn't know. Humans were full of many different emotions. Dean shook his head. "Something that I cannot fix."

"Everything can be fixed--"

"Not this time. I don't regret doing what I did... but it was a stupid thing to do." Still, he wouldn't give in. Did he not trust him enough? But he wouldn't speak to Sam about it... Something was going on, but he shouldn't press him.

"If you don't want to tell me, fine. But you need to talk to someone about it." Castiel said, then began to flip through a lore about demons. Dean didn't respond, so Cas decided to keep his mouth shut. If Dean didn't want to talk, then what was the point on trying?

 

~

 

After hours of looking into the lore, Dean was left alone. Castiel said he was going to do something, but he had a feeling Cas was pissed with him. Dean rubbed his eyes, unsure of the time. He shut the lore and let out a yawn, then decided he'd hit the hay.

He walked down the hall, finding his room: the Men of Letters symbol embedded on the door, and the dull metal. He placed a hand on the handle and opened it, hearing the whine that it always made. He turned on the light and nearly jumped out of his socks as Castiel sat on his bed, looking at nothing.

"Jesus christ! You can't do that, Cas!" He snapped, running a hand down his face. Castiel turned to face him, his expression flat as usual.

"I didn't realize I would frighten you," was all Cas said, his eyebrows furrowing. Dean shut the door behind him and sat on the bed beside him.

"Is there something you wanna talk about?" Dean asked, looking at him with questioning eyes. Castiel looked at him, still furrowing his brows.

"That's what I asked you, but you only gave me bits and pieces. I feel as if you do not trust me, even with what we've been through. It's alright if you don't want to talk, but..." His voice trailed off, and his gaze travelling elsewhere.

Dean shook his head. "If I told you, I would be afraid for the answer, Cas," he admitted. "I am always judged, and I don't need to be judged by you." Castiel looked a bit hurt. Why would he be hurt about this?

"I won't judge you, Dean." Cas said, turning to face him again, his blue eyes flickering with something. Dean fidgeted, unsure if he should tell him. But if there was any time to do so, it should be now. But he knew what Castiel would say. What anyone would say...

"Sam is back because of me," he blurted, then instantly regretted for telling him. Castiel's eyes widened, and he was ready for the lecture.

"Don't tell me you sold your soul..." Castiel pleaded, seeing the panic and anger in his gaze. He shouldn't have said anything. Everything was going to shit now. God be damned, Castiel was going to murder him!

"I had to, Cas. I couldn't bear knowing that Sam was in Hell--"

"How long?" Castiel interrupted, his voice deadly. Dean gulped, running a hand through his hair. Castiel was definitely going to murder him if he told him. When Dean didn't respond, Cas repeated, "How. Long?"

"A month." His voice was barely more than a whisper. He couldn't even look at Cas anymore. He couldn't stand the judging eyes. He couldn't stand everything! When Cas didn't respond, his impatience almost crossed it's line.

"Dean..." Castiel began, "you shouldn't have done this. You know the consequences! Why did you agree to a month? Do you even realize how stupid that was?" He didn't expect such a short lecture, but it still dropped his stomach.

"Of course I know how idiotic I was! But I couldn't just sit there and let Sam be tortured down stairs. I know what it's like in Hell, and with my little brother down there..." He shook his head, fighting his tears. His shame... Then, out of the blue, arms were wrapped around him. His whole body went stiff, his mind scrambling. After a few moments, he hugged the angel back, needing this comfort.

"We'll figure this out. And I won't tell Sam, unless you want him to know..." Castiel said, his arms growing tighter. For some reason, he didn't stop him.

"It should come from me... letting Sam know," Dean replied, knowing that if it came from Cas, Sam would probably get angry. After a few moments, he pulled away from the embrace and looked into Cas' eyes. He just stared at him, and Cas' eyes glinted with grief. He didn't want to leave this world, but at least Sam got to live. But wouldn't Sam do anything to get him back?


	8. 26 More Days - 7

"You don't have to be ruled by fate,

you can choose freedom,

And I still believe that's something worth fighting for."

~Castiel, Supernatural

 

 

26 More Days

In only twenty six more days, he would go to Hell.

He had to admit, he wasn't entirely ready. He made the decision to sacrifice himself for Sam, but how could he be ready to be torn to shreds, then tortured for decades downstairs? He let out a sigh, tapping a pencil on the desk before him in the library. He was debating on whether he should tell his brother now, or wait a couple more days. But, didn't he only have a few days until he was gone-zo?

He stared blankly at his half scribbled paper, his vision blurring then refocusing. How could he tell him? What were the possible ways of doing so? He couldn't just say: 'Oh hey, Sammy! Look, I sold my soul, and I'll be in Hell in twenty or so days.' 

After a few moments, he quickly jotted down a couple of ideas, finding that they were utterly stupid. Some were plainly simple, stating that he sold his soul, and that he had less than a month. Some said that he was sorry that he didn't tell him sooner, but he wasn't sorry for the fact that he sold his soul for him. 

He nearly jumped out of his socks as Castiel began walking through the door, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Damnit, Cas! I told you not to do that," he nearly snarled it, but kept his temper down. 

Cas removed his hand, tilting his head to the side. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said with no emotion that he could depict, "I came to tell you that the angels have summoned me. There has been a breach, and they need all warriors."

Dean nodded slowly, squeezing the pencil in his hand until his knuckles turned ivory. "Then go. You don't wanna keep your feathered friends waiting." 

Castiel nodded, and without another word, the sound of fluttered wings told him that he was gone. He rubbed his temples, sudden annoyance filling his veins. And that he couldn't decipher why he was, but perhaps it was the fact that Cas left without another word. He shrugged it off, taking the piece of paper in his hands and pressing it into a ball. Fuck it.

 

~

 

The sight was horrifying. Darkness upon darkness spread throughout Heaven... Not a single soul in sight, and the energy was different. Not full of joy, kindness, nor was it serene. It was just dead and utterly horrible. As Castiel, Angel of the Lord, walked amongst Heaven's grounds, he listened to the crunching of his feet on the grass, for it was the only sound to be heard in miles. What happened? And were his brothers and sisters in danger?

He tried to picture this place as the once beautiful, glorious place. But it simply wouldn't lock in his mind. He could only see what it had become. A dark, evil place. Though, how by the Father could have this happened? Only hours before did his brothers call about a breach... The breach! The demons must have done this. 

As he continued to walk in this forsaken land, the smell of crimson hit his nostrils. Was that... blood? He looked from left to right, narrowing his eyes. Where was it coming from? He couldn't decipher whether it was in front of him or behind him. But as he continued on... His stomach dropped to his gut, and he saw what he had feared most.

Bodies upon bodies. Blood and blood... and more... The scattered feathers of the Angel's wings. No, no, no, no, no.... How did this happen? They couldn't all be dead... No. They weren't, for he only saw at least a hundred bodies. But--they were dead. His brothers and sisters suffered while he bunked with the Winchesters. He had no right to be called a brother.

Maybe this was a dream? But Angels don't sleep, nor can they dream. Maybe it was an illusion? But did he recall being drugged? He couldn't deny what happened. He just couldn't, for it did and there was no undoing it. He could see the bodies splayed before Heaven's grounds, and the crimson splattered grass and the darkness illuminating their world. It just simply happened.

He couldn't help this anger that infuriated his soul. He never really felt emotions, but when he did, there was no turning back. His heart raced, his breath was caught, and tears welled in his eyes. Sadness, anger... Revenge. The emotions that plagued humans for eternity, and now, they were caged in his heart. The demons did this, and he knew for a fact that they'd pay.

 

~

 

Sam Winchester awoke in a jolt, sweat beading his brow, and he could have sworn blood coated his hands. He looked around, forgetting where he was. But then it clicked. He was home--not in Hell. He rubbed his eyes, removing the tears that began to drip down his cheeks. The horrors of Hell would forever haunt him... How did Dean ever get through this?

He slipped out of his bed, finding himself walking towards the library. His brother had been hanging out there for a while now, so he supposed he'd still be there. But as he walked into the room, his brother was already waiting for him, a crumpled piece of paper in his left hand.

"Dean?" He questioned cautiously, eying his older brother.

Dean sucked in a breath, looking more nervous than usual. Why was he acting this way? "Dean?" He repeated.

Dean looked down, dragging a hand down his face. Oh no. There was something going on. He could tell, especially by this guilty and strange behaviour. But why, exactly, was he nervous? Why did he look so afraid and heart broken?

"There's something I have to tell you," Dean whispered.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

"I did something. Something that I cannot take back. Though, I did it for the right reasons, and if I had to do it again, I would... But you'd never forgive me."

"Dean," Sam began, "what the Hell did you do?"

"I brought you back, Sammy."


	9. Lost Angels - 8

"Don't tell me it's not worth fighting for.

I can't help it; there's nothing I don't want more.

You know it's true. Everything I do, I do it for you."

~Castiel, Supernatural

 

 

Lost Angels

"I only have a month to live, Sammy," Dean whispered as Sam didn't reply.

Sam didn't know what he was hearing. Not anymore. Sure, he suspected this to be his doing... But his suspicions were true? Dean sold his soul. And he only has one month to live. Sam stared at his brother for a long moment, his gut twisting, his heart aching. What would he say? Thank you for giving up your life for me? No. Because he wasn't thankful. His brother was just so damn stupid to do what he did. Didn't he know the consequences?

"How could you do this?" Sam whispered, staring right into Dean's eyes.

Dean gulped, his fingers twitching and a muscle feathering in his jaw. "I did it for you, Sammy. You know that. I couldn't just let you rot in Hell--"

"Yes, you could have. But you were blinded by your selfishness. You should have just let me die..." He shook his head, running a hand through his long, brown hair.

"Why would I do that? I couldn't bear the thought of those demons taking you! You were tortured, and I know exactly how that feels," Dean snapped, rage running through his veins.

"So you'd endure that pain again for me? You'd let yourself be torn to bits over, and over, and over again so I could live?" He didn't understand this. Not at all. Why would his brother do this? How could he just sell his soul and lie to him about it?

"Yes, Sam, because you're my brother. Wouldn't you do this same?" Dean searched his eyes, and Sam could tell he was struggling. Sam shrugged, shaking his head slowly.

"No, I wouldn't," Sam growled, and he noted the hurt in Dean's emerald eyes. "You know why? Because I'm not an idiot, and I know the consequences. We have gone through this constant cycle our whole lives, and we can't continue it. We've been through enough, and even if I brought you back by selling my soul, you'd figure a way to stop me from going to Hell. I can't live in a constant cycle, Dean."

"No matter what you say, I'd do it a thousand times," Dean said weakly, his voice sounding small. After a few moments, he added, "Well it's done and there's no going back." Dean stormed out of the library, leaving Sam there in the dark. He slowly shook his head, his heart wrenching. How could his brother do this?

 

~

 

Castiel was crouched before one of his brothers, feeling their pulse. Not a single beat. Not a single breath... And their Grace did not glow. They, officially, were dead. He normally never endured human emotions... But something inside him clicked--something inside him made him feel human. Perhaps it was the rage that did so. Or the fact that demons had killed a good portion of Angels so easily.

He couldn't contain the silver that dripped down his face. He couldn't contain his scream that echoed through Heaven for miles. He pulled at his hair, looking down at his brother Gabriel. He was a kind Angel, even if he always had a trick up his sleeve. He didn't deserve this death. None of them did. So why did he get to live? Why didn't the demons come for him?

That was a question he'd have answered soon.

He stared at Gabriel for a long moment, unable to decipher how the demons took him down, then finally stood. He must act now, despite his low forces. Maybe the Winchesters could help... No. He wouldn't get them involved. It wasn't their fight.

And he didn't want Dean's life to end sooner than planned.

A sudden chill ran down his spine, his trench coat flowing to a strange wind. What was that? He looked around, suddenly alarmed. Nothing seemed right. Not anymore, for what had just happened here in Heaven...

But as he turned a full circle, he watched his brothers and sisters glow brightly. They were nearly as bright as the sun, radiating through his world like a nuclear bomb. What was happening? The light continued to grow, until a sudden blast knocked him off his feet. Stars filled his vision, ringing constantly ran through his head. He couldn't think straight, and everything seemed to grow dark--dark like a night of no stars. Like the end of the world.

Sudden panic consumed him, his heart beating fast, and his head pounding from impact. Was this the end? Was he going to join his family in Purgatory? His vision was bleary, and the ringing continuously repeated in his mind like a fire alarm. Yes, this was the end.

The sound grew excessively, becoming more and more painful. He cried out in pain, begging for it to stop. This sound was excruciating. It was worser than an Angel's voice. Worser than the banshee's cry. He could feel his ears bleed, and he couldn't help but scream in agony. Horrible, horrible, horrible... Just make it stop.

After what seemed like hours, his mind was free, and relief flooded through him as he could think. As this pain had simply sent him free. But the ringing echoed throughout his mind, condemned there for life. He nearly forget the deaths of his siblings. Nearly forgot about the Winchesters... Nearly forgot about himself.

Sitting there stunned, he finally hoisted himself up, checking the area around him... The bodies of the fallen angels were gone. The grass was still splattered with blood, and a fog enveloped the air. But, they were all gone. Not even a hair was left... Not even a feather. They just simply vanished. His mind swirled, his knees buckling. They were gone, and he couldn't stop them from taking their vessels.

Gone, gone, gone.... How did he let this happen? How did he let himself be attacked by this force? Castiel sat himself up, pressing his palms into his eyes. The Angels were now lost because of him. Their bodies were just taken...

Revenge was the word that rang through his mind. It begged him for it. He must do what his brothers would have wanted. They would have wanted this, wouldn't they? Probably. And no matter what, he would avenge them. But as his thoughts grew deeper, and more hateful... He was oblivious to the fact that a presence was lingering before him.

After a while, he finally looked up to see a familiar face. That british, short, idiot that controlled Hell. Crowley. He instantly jumped up, a hand clasping around Crowley's throat. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't end your life right now."

Crowley laughed lowly, staring the Angel in the eye. "Is that a way to treat an old friend, Castiel?" When the Angel didn't reply, he sighed and said, "I'm not stopping you. But, if I were you, I'd think twice about doing so."

"Why is that?" Castiel demanded.

"Because your little Winchester friends will be dragged down to Hell with you." Crowley grinned, his eyes flicking red.

"With me? What the hell does that mean?" What did it mean? Crowley shrugged, and somehow, an invisible hand removed his hand from his throat. "How are you doing this?" His eyes widened, and he could feel his arm twist. He let out a cry, trying to prevent this from happening... But he was too weak. Of course, this was the king of Hell's doing. He had done all of this. The death of his brothers, that excruciating ring, and now this... He heard a loud, horrible snap, and he swore it could have been heard for miles. He let out a painful cry, his arm exploding with pain.

His vision blackened, and his arm was released by the invisible force. He couldn't think, couldn't open his eyes. He knew he had fainted--or, at least, was forced to do so. And before he knew it... He was in Hell.


	10. Forgiveness - 9

"Decide to be fine until the end of the week,

Make yourself smile because that's your job,

Then do it again the next week, do it right with a smile,

Or don't do it at all."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

 

Forgiveness

His brother gave up his life for him.

How could he ever forgive Dean? How could he ever say that it's alright? He just simply couldn't. His brother was a damned idiot. He was just so stupid and blinded for his love for him, and didn't think twice about the consequences... Didn't think about what Sam himself would say--would think about his actions.

He didn't talk to his brother for two days. He thought himself insane, for his brother only had twenty four more days... But he couldn't face him. He couldn't bear the thought of him sacrificing himself, and then saying it would be alright. But it wasn't; nothing was anymore.

Sam sat in his room, head in hands. He should talk to his brother. They only had a limited time before Dean made his trip downstairs. Sighing to himself, he stood up and walked out of his room, heading down the hall. Thinking that his brother would be bunked in his room, he knocked on the door and opened it without Dean's consent.

"Dean?" He said while walking in. His brother was splayed across the bed, arm covering his eyes, and he was snoring deeply. Sam couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, and moved to close the door shut and leave, but Dean bolted awake, laying his eyes upon Sam.

"You scared the shit out of me," Dean murmured, then stood up, hands in pockets. "So... Did you get pie, or is there something else?"

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "I know I was a jerk back there..." He began, "but you have to understand it's hard to comprehend all of this. You sold your soul, I came back, and then Cas leaves..." He hadn't seen Castiel for two days. He was probably giving the boys their alone time, so they can get through this... But that was beside the point. "I just... I didn't want you to do this for me. I wanted you to live a long and prosperous life, and not have to go through the damnation of Hell."

Dean nodded curtly, shrugging a little. "I know, Sammy. But I didn't want you to go through that. I know what happens to souls down there, and with you enduring all that pain... It ruined me, Sam. That is why I did this. So I know that you're safe."

"I understand," Sam said, "and I'm really sorry what I said back there. You're my brother, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I was just so angry that you did this... And you waited until two days ago to tell me the truth. It hurt me, and I..." His voice trailed off, shaking his head and wiping the tears that began to stain his cheeks.

"It'll be okay, Sam. It will," Dean promised, but he knew it was a lie. But Sam shrugged it off, and brought his brother into a hug. Dean was tense at first, but then relaxed and embraced his younger brother. 

"We will find a way out of this." Sam said, pulling away from the embrace. "We will."

"There's nothing we can do; the demon said so. If we try to find a loop hole... We'll both be dragged down to Hell," Dean whispered.

"Like Hell that'll happen. I promise you we'll fix things. I won't let you go down there. You can't endure that twice, especially after knowing what it does. That demon can rot in Hell for all I care." Sam's voice sounded deadly. He didn't recognize this tone, but he didn't care. 

Dean stared at his brother for a long moment, his face emotionless. What was he thinking? What was he going to do? "Okay," he said slowly, his eyes searching Sam's. 

"Okay?" Sam repeated Dean's answer, furrowing his brows. It was that easy? Dean was going to let him do this? Let him... Try to save his brother from damnation?

Dean nodded, his arms drooping to his sides. "I know nothing will get through to you. And we always find a way, don't we?" It was shocking that his brother was alright with this. But Dean knew him better than anyone, and it was true that he wouldn't stop trying to find a way out of this, despite Dean's objections. He wouldn't let his brother die for him. He just couldn't.

 

~

 

That demon was going to kill the Winchesters for what they were planning, but Dean didn't particularly care. That demon was a bitch, and he knew that. And for his brother... He had to agree with him. That boy always stuck to what he says, and even if he tried to stop Sam, his brother would stop at nothing to prevent him from going to Hell.

Though the words that were exchanged between them still stung, he set them aside and looked towards the future. To the faith that had grown inside him that day. Despite the demon's warnings, the Winchesters were going to sidestep perdition again. At least... They would try. He had no idea what laid on the road for them. Either Hell would drag him downstairs, or his brother would save him. 

But there had been one thing that was bothering him for some time:

There had been no word from Cas for two days. What was going on? Was the angel alright? Did something come up? He didn't know, and that was what worried him. Though, hadn't the angel said he had some Heaven business? He couldn't remember what exactly Cas had said. 

Though, what if the angel was dead? What if something happened in Heaven that he was unaware to? He shouldn't think this way... Angels were the most powerful beings known to man. They could take down anything with the touch of a finger. Castiel would be fine, wouldn't he?

Dean rubbed his temples, thoughts swarming his mind. Castiel would be okay. And he shouldn't worry about this, anyways. They had planning to do, if he was going to sidestep death once again.


	11. Hell - 10

"I am the one who gripped you tight,

And raised you from perdition."

~Castiel, Supernatural

 

Hell

Castiel stood before the King of Hell.

The scrawny, little bastard smiled down at him, his jolly figure planted on the throne. He was the murderer of his brothers and sisters. Rage fluttered his stomach, but Castiel forced himself to not kill that demon, for he knew what consequences would lay ahead. Crowley had been the one to 'pick him up' from Heaven, and now he sat on the throne of Hell. What kind of business was he holding?

Demons surrounded the perimeter, clearly showing there was no escape for the Angel. Castiel frowned, looking up to Crowley. He just watched him--watched him like prey. It was unsettling, and he could feel himself fill with ire. Though he had to contain it, despite his feelings about this idiot.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, Crowley flicked his fingers in gesture for the others to leave. This left the two alone. Was Crowley an idiot? Or was something else going on? He had no idea.

"You, my little feathered friend, got yourself in some shit," Crowley began, "You know, staying down with the Winchesters was a good idea, but then going up to Heaven? Did you really think that I would let you feathered beasts take us down?"

What was he talking about? "I'm not your friend," he said slowly, "And in all honestly, Crowley--"

"King," Crowley cut in.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, but he continued on with a sigh, "In all honesty, king, I didn't think you'd win." A smirk played on Crowley's face as he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. Something in his eyes unsettled him. It was as if the demon was plotting every way to skin the Angel... To feed him to the Hell Hounds.

"Well, I got news for you kitten," Crowley purred, "The demons won the battle, and you're going down with the dead." What did that mean? Castiel stared at the demon for a long moment, contemplating on many different things. Was Crowley going to kill him? He had no idea.

"You mean to tell me that you're going to... Kill me?" Castiel inquired, furrowing his brows.

Crowley snorted, waving a hand. "Perhaps. Though, I do prefer torture," he said with a shrug, his teeth glinting white. 

He wasn't going to panic. He wasn't going to show weakness. He was once known as a god, and he had raised souls from perdition, and he had beaten the Devil many times. This King of Hell would not ruin his name. And he certainly wouldn't take his pride, for this demon had already taken so much.

"Do whatever you please; but I will never be broken," Castiel snarled.

"What do I need you broken for? A pinata?" Crowley grinned at the Angel, and then added, "Goodbye Cassie."

And before he could say anything else, two hands grasped his shoulders, and he was dragged into darkness. His blue eyes widened as he looked from left to right, only finding the endless darkness that enveloped him. Crowley wasn't kidding. They continued to drag him, despite the thrashes he attempted. He had to brace what was about to come.

Then the torture began.

 

~

 

Sam had been up for hours, reading from book to book about Crossroads deals. Though each one ended at a dead end. Sam slammed a book shut, dust enveloping the air, as it only said that a Crossroads deal couldn't be broken. Bullshit. There had to be a way, couldn't there?

Sam pressed his palms into his eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. There had to be. The sound of footsteps broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find Dean chowing on pie. "Seriously?"

Dean shrugged, taking another bite. "Might as well eat my favourite food before I'm condemned to Hell." 

Sam chuckled, despite the fact that his brother was going to die, unless they found a way out of this. Sam took out another lore from the stack of twenty--which he's only gone through five--and began to feed up on the useless information. 

"Anything?" Dean asked as he finished up the dessert. Sam looked up and gave him a look that told him 'what do you think?' "That bad? There isn't anything?"

"Nope," Sam sighed, clicking his tongue. "Though we will get out of this mess. I know it." He promised, though he knew he might not be able to keep it. But he just had to believe that he could--that he'd be able to save his brother from damnation.

"Have you heard from Cas?" Dean asked out of the blue, sitting on the other side of the long, brown table. Sam looked up from the lore, staring at his brother for a long moment. He hadn't, and he didn't really think much about it.

"No, why? Did something happen?" Sam inquired. 

"I don't know; that's why I was asking you," Dean said drily, "All I know that he hasn't called for three days, and it's worrying me."

Sam gave him a shrug. "Well, he's Cas, isn't he? Always Angel business upstairs, and he disappears a lot without informing us. You shouldn't be worried. He'll probably be back soon."

Dean frowned, but gave him a cut nod. "Probably," he said slowly, then grabbed a book from the pile. Sam rolled his eyes, then began to read the book once again. 

There wasn't much to it, and it continued on saying you couldn't break a deal. Maybe there wasn't hope for Dean? What if Dean was going to die, and he'd be unable to stop this from happening? He didn't want to think this way... But he had to face what could possibly happen. He had to face the truth. 

Dean's life is on the line, and if he didn't find a way out of this pact... Dean was going to Hell.


	12. Hell's Hounds - 11

"Oh Lord, where are you? Do not forget me here,

I cry in silence, Can you not see my tears?

When all have left me, And hope has disappeared,

You'll find me here."

~ Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

 

Hell's Hounds

The sound of snarling filled his ears.

He ran and ran, his breath caught, his heart beating fast. They found him, and now they're taking what is their's. The darkness was unending, and he had forgotten where he was. The only thing he knew was: run. Run and never look back, or they'll take you and drag you downstairs. And he's been doing it ever since.

Twigs snapped, the snarling deepened... He knew they were close. Too close. He continued to run, jumping over fallen branches and jagged rocks. The Hell Hounds were a tail's length away. He could hear their breathing... 

His heart felt as if it were to explode, his legs ached... But he continued to run, or he knew they would tear him to shreds. He couldn't let that happen. But they were faster. They were faster than lightning; faster than a cheetah. He looked over his shoulder for a mere second, nothing--but it was there. Its presence lingered, and the breath of a thousand years crawled up his nose. He nearly gaged, but he wouldn't let the bile rise. He had to continue to run, or the--

Something grabbed his leg, forcing him to fall forwards. His head smacked against the cold, hard ground, stars filling his vision. He let out a cry in panic, and he felt his legs get torn open. This was it. It was the end--the end he was waiting for for a long time. 

Searing pain enveloped his body, and it was nearly impossible to contain his screams. God, it hurt like shit. The constant tear, the constant blood escaping from his body... It was endless, and the Hell Hound wouldn't stop--wouldn't stop until it took his final breath.

"Dean!" He heard his brother cry in the distance. He wanted to see his brother one last time... But the pain was so excruciating, his body was paralyzed. He couldn't move one damn limb. He was utterly helpless... "Dean!" Sam cried again. I'm sorry, Sammy...

And then he saw the endless darkness. He saw Hell.

 

~

 

"Dean!" Sam cried as his brother thrashed beneath him. "Dean, wake the hell up!" He tried again, pinning the older Winchester down. Dean muttered something barely audible, in which didn't allow Sam to pick it up. What was going on? Was it another nightmare?

But as is brother wouldn't wake up, he let out a panicked cry, and forced himself to slap his brother across the face. Dean burst awake, a scream escaping his lips. Sam jumped back, confused with this whole situation. "Dean?"

Dean looked around, as if he was unsure of where he was. Then their eyes locked, Dean's eyes full of fear. "There's no escaping this, is there?" Dean whispered.

It took him a while to click into what he meant. "There's always a way, isn't there?" Sam replied quietly.

Dean shook his head, silver lining his eyes. He never cried--at least there were rare occasions. But something really got to him, and he couldn't help but think it had to do with selling his soul. "Not this time, Sammy. I've lived through it so many times, and I always had the same fate: death."

"Don't think that way, Dean," Sam pleaded. If Dean didn't have hope... Then how could he? Dean was utterly broken, he could see that... But they couldn't give up.

"But it's the truth!" Dean snapped. "And you know it. I have seen the doubt in your eyes when we have had dead ends. I've seen the sorrow and anger." Maybe it was himself that was giving up. But he had no damn clue, for he was caught in one scenario: saving his brother.

"Maybe there's been doubt. But has that ever stopped us? Did that stop up when we took down the Leviathans? Did that stop us when we took down all the demons as Hell broke loose? Did that stop us in attempting to destroy Amara?" Sam searched his eyes, then added, "No, it hasn't."

Dean breathed a shaky breath, then nodded slowly. Sam may doubt saving his brother, but they always saved the day. They always figured out something... Didn't they? "And what if we can't stop this, Sam? What if it's too late?"

"Then I don't know." He honestly didn't. There were many possibilities of what may happen. And the one that seemed most likely... Was that Dean would be dragged to Hell. "There are still twenty four more days, Dean."

"Anything can happen in those limited days."


	13. Life and Death - 12

"There's seemingly nothing but chaos,

But not all bad comes from it, Art, hope, love, dreams..."

~Castiel, Supernatural

 

 

Life and Death

Fourteen days have passed, and not a word from Castiel.

Dean was starting to believe the angel he had once known abandoned them--left them for the dogs. Left them for dead. Though, would Cas do that to them? Maybe. He didn't know. All he knew was that Castiel left, saying there was 'angel business', and never came back.

But he shouldn't be worrying about this angel. He had to set his mind on what would happen in twelve days. Such a limited time... A fool's bargain... A selfishness that could never be reset. God, he had to admit he was an idiot, but he would do it again--only for his brother.

Every lore said the same thing: you cannot run from a Hell Hound--you can only meet certain death. Then, he had given up. He had no damned hope in this world, for a book couldn't even cut him slack. Though, Sam, said they'd find a way. It's what he always said. What he repeated a thousand times each day. Perhaps he was trying to prove something--or he was trying to believe it himself. But he knew, deep inside, those words were to only keep them going. But how could they? How could they ever continue to figure out a way to stop a freaking Hell Hound when there was no hope in every book?

And even if something said 'stab one in the heart, and you'll be free from its curse forever', didn't the demon say that if they tried to do anything, they'd both be dragged downstairs? Yes. Yes that demon had said that. So why were they fighting? Why did they try so hard to figure out this loop hole? Sam had literally butchered a Crossroads Demon three days ago for information, which the demon was unable to supply. He could have sworn he saw something different in those once soft, green, boyish eyes of his brother. He saw savageness, pain and darkness. Those things were completely unlike his younger brother. Sam wasn't a freaking psychopath. Maybe he had seen things? Or maybe Hell actually did do something to him.

Right now, Dean was standing in the middle of a crossroads, waiting for Sam to finish up a ritual. Why were they trying? A question he couldn't answer. He watched he brother burry the box that contained the contents of accustomed ritual, and he took a step away, awaiting for the appearance of a god forsaken demon.

After a few moments, a male with short blonde hair, a scrawny frame, and an outfit of pure leather, stood before them. Dean observed the thing for a few moments, until it finally said, "why, isn't it the Winchesters?" It spat on the word Winchesters as if it were poison.

It was Sam that replied. "We're here to make a deal," he said strongly, eying the demon like a hawk.

The demon snorted, crossing his thin arms. "We're out of scrolls; come back another day," it lied, a smirk playing across its lips.

Dean snarled, "it's an easy deal. I doubt you'll need 'scrolls' for this one."

The demon rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested."

"But you don't even know what we were going to offer!" Sam protested, taking a small step forward, raging flickering his gaze. Dean laid an arm on his shoulder, telling him to calm down.

"I think I do, Sammy," the demon said, "you're just going to ask for more time on Dean's life. Or, you're going to threaten: give us information or die. I've heard it all before from you Winchesters, and rumour has it that you've been eviscerating demons for not giving you info. Boys, Hell doesn't want to do business with you. What's done is done; there's no going back."

A muscle feathered in Dean's jaw. Before he could say anything else, the demon was gone, leaving the two brothers alone on the crossroads. He stared into the darkness of the four streets, clenching his fists. "Son of a bitch!" He heard Sam cry. Then the sound of feet against stone fading into the distance caught his attention. He watched his brother get into the impala, practically slamming the door shut.

Dean followed after his brother, delicately getting inside the impala. He stared at his brother for a long moment, noting the rage that flickered his gaze. Hell did a number on him, but he wouldn't push him on it. He understood that feeling--and that feeling he would endure once again. He shook his head, starting the engine, and began to drive off. The classic rock from the radio blasted out of the speakers, but Sam quickly shut it off, leaving the two in horrible silence.

The scenery zoomed passed them like blurs, constantly moving at no end. The darkness consumed the world, haunting them to its endless desires. He could see nothing beautiful. He could only see the twilight of the night. He could only see the hell that would take him in less than two weeks.


	14. One week - 14

"Might as well make the best of life,

Before you have nothing left to live for."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

One Week

Time went by too fast.

They hadn't found anything. Nothing that could save him from this terrible fate... And now, he knew for sure he was to be condemned to Hell. He gave up officially, and he knew Sam had as well.

There was no word from Castiel, and he started to believe he was gone forever. That the angel was either dead, or he had nothing to do with them anymore. That made his heart pang a little. Both possibilities were horrible. Cas was like his brother... Dean shook his head, rubbing the surface of his Chevy impala. Enough thoughts about that angel. 

He stared at the car that had been in his family for decades. He would miss her. Miss the hum of her engine, the soft touch of the leather, and the classic rock that buzzed through the speakers. He would miss life. He would miss everything.

He stood before a bar, the sign 'Ye Old Squire' glowed brightly, illuminating the world red as it beamed. Oh, how he would miss alcohol. The burning sensation that ran down your throat was pleasurable... The taste, the smell... The buzz that affected him in spontaneous way. That poison that seemed like a delightful candy. Man, only if Hell had liquor and chicks, life would be fine. 

He swaggered into the bar, eying the drunks and jocks that boomed in the building. The lights were dimmed, the pop music quietly came from the speakers, and he heard the sound of liquor against glass. He breathed in the smell, the fragrance running down his lungs. 

This would be the last time he sat in a bar. The last time he'd ever have fun. 

He might as well make the best of this.

He sat himself at the bar, ordering a beer, and leaned into the counter. He grinned at the bartender, whom had a beautiful frame and feminine curves, long black locks, and dazzling ice-blue eyes. She was absolutely stunning! As the female noted his attention, she quirked a brow, sliding over her beer with a popped cap. 

The female leaned close, her breath hot against his face, and said, "Lemme' guess; you're one of those boys that come up with cheap flirts, and try to have one night stands, yes?" He was a little taken aback, but he cast her a wolfish grin, his green eyes glinting with confirmation.

"Life is limited, and you might as well make the best of it," he shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. It was true what he said--at least, it had a hidden truth to himself.

The female shook her head softly, moving so she could face him fully, locking her beautiful eyes onto his own. "So picking up chicks and fucking them is 'making the best of your life'?" She inquired, tilting her head with crossed arms.

His face flushed, clenching the beer bottle in his hand. He had to regain his cool. After a moment, he purred, "Only when they're as beautiful as you." The female's cheeks warmed, revealing a rosy pink hue. 

"You're a very flirtatious one, and I admire that about you," she grinned, playing with a lock of black, silky hair. Good--she was showing that she was into him.

He leaned close and whispered, "I'm Dean." 

"Daenerys," the female murmured into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. 

"What a beautiful name. May I call you Dany?" He purred, looking into her blue eyes. She smiled, nodding slowly, bitting her lip. "How about we get out of here, Dany?" He suggested, taking another swig of his beer, the burning sensation relieving his throat.

"My shift is about to end in..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes travelling to the clock on the wall. "Ten minutes."

"Great; we have ten minutes to talk," Dean smiled, leaning back into the bar stool. The female grinned back, eying the Winchester. He liked this girl. Too bad his life was to end in less than a week.

 

~

 

Their lips crashed against each other, forcing Dean against the brick wall. The building's surface dug into his skin, but he was too caught into the moment to care. His arms trailed down Daenerys' sides, feeling her curves. Dany's hands knitted to his short, brown hair, pressing her lips closer to his own. He smiled between their lips, but he desperately needed air. He pulled back for a moment, oxygen rushing down his lungs, staring into her exotic eyes. After a couple moments of breathing, their lips connected again, and he flipped her to the wall, pressing his body against her own. She let out a wild laugh as he did so, her voice vibrant and beautiful.

He needed to be closer. He kissed her harder, nearly knocking the breath out of the female. "Whoa there, tiger!" Daenerys exclaimed into his mouth, running a hand down his flannel.

Dean grinned wildly, pulling back. "Take this to the car?" He breathed.

Dany shyly nodded, taking his hand as he offered it. "Lets hope you're as good as kissing, my friend."

"Oh, believe me, I am."


	15. One Last Breath - 14

"People cry, not because they're weak,

It's because they've been strong for too long."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

One Last Breath

This was it. His last breathing day on earth.

He didn't realize how afraid he was until this day. He could call himself a coward, but, wouldn't anyone be afraid of being torn to ribbons by Hell's dogs? Obviously. Someone would be insane if they said they weren't afraid--if they were alright to endure that death. Even for the right purposes... It was terrifying.

Sam stood beside him as he lingered in the library, his gaze fixated on the doorframe. Could Hellhounds get through here? He had no idea. He only knew that the Hellhounds would go after him until his final days--until he couldn't bear running any longer.

What a nice thing to look forward to in the morning. The thrill of running the rest of your life, being chased down by a bunch of savage, demon dogs. But the problem was is that he couldn't do anything to stop this. If he tried to sidestep this... He would condemn himself and Sam in Hell. And he would have no way in saving Sam. And with Castiel gone... There wasn't any hope. 

There hadn't been hope in a while now.

He sighed, rubbing both temples, unable to look at his little brother. What would Sam do with his life after his death? Hunt? Find a chick and fall in love? He had no idea, and he wasn't going to ask, for he knew Sam wouldn't know, either.

But he wanted Sam's life to be better. He wanted him to be happy, and not be all sappy about this. Sam deserved better... A life without guilt and harm. But he knew he wouldn't be able to grant those things.

"Where is that son of a bitch?" He heard his brother murmur angrily, breaking him from his thoughts. He instantly knew whom he was talking about: Castiel. 

"I don't know," Dean whispered, banging his head against the frame lightly. 

"He should be here. He should be helping us. Why would he just run away--"

Dean interrupted with a snap, "Sam, I. Don't. Know. I don't want to talk about him. Cas left, and he's not coming back; and he's certainly not saving me from certain death." Sam flinched, ire boiling his gaze, but he nodded, looking at the grey floor.

After a couple minutes, Sam said, "I didn't expect the end to come so soon, ye' know? But... A hunters' life always ends at some point. That's the curse of our job: death at every corner on the road."

For some reason, Dean chuckled at that, shaking his head with agreement. "No kidding," he sighed, "If only we never got into this crap."

"Yeah..." Sam looked at his brother, his gaze softening. "Though, if we hadn't, how many people would have died without us? How many people would have died without you?" That made Dean frown. It was true, though. Without him--them--so many innocents would have died, and there would have been no one else to save them. He saved hundreds... Killed thousands... 

"You're right, I guess," Dean shrugged. "Without us bad-ass hunters, people would be screaming all over the streets." Sam chuckled, but it died into a breathless sob. "Oh, sammy; don't cry!" He begged, watching silver line his brother's eyes. Sam shook his head, wiping the tears that streamed down his cheeks. But before he could say anything, Dean pulled his brother into a hug, embracing him. This was the last day he would ever be able to spend real time with him. The last day where they didn't run... 

The last day they'd both be alive.

This was so much harder than he thought. His brother sobbed into his shoulder, unable to contain him, while Dean stayed strong. He had to be, didn't he? He had to show that he'd be alright; that nothing would get to him. Even if they were both a lie...

"I will save you," Sam said into his shoulder.

"I don't need saving," Dean told him.

"Doesn't everyone?" Sam pulled away from the hug, only enough to look into his brother's eyes. His gaze was stern--unforgiving. 

"Not this time, Sammy." 

"Stop being so damn stubborn," Sam shoved his shoulder, "No matter what, I will find a way to bring you from damnation. You didn't deserve this; no one does."

Dean shook his head, knowing he'd never get through to him. He knew his brother. He knew what Sam always did: fight and never look back. You could call him an idiot at times, but you could also call him brave. The instincts of a true warrior... The heart of courage, life and pure good. Sam shouldn't have been in this life. But, there were reasons to everything. Just like how Dean would make his trip downstairs, right? Was there a reason to all of this? Destiny? A plan? Fate?

"Everything happens for a reason. Mostly for the right ones." Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder, giving him a sad smile. Sam nodded slowly, his eyes red. He didn't want him to cry again... But he had been so strong for too long. "C'mere," Dean pulled his brother into another hug, allowing the tears of pain to drench his shoulder. He didn't care. 

This was only the beginning of tears. And today would be his final, true breath on this earth.


	16. Hunted - 15

"What do you say we,

Kill some sons of bitches, And we raise a little Hell."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

Hunted

Run; the last word his brother told him.

They were coming. They were too fast, too smart. How do you run from the Devil, when he can find you at any corner in the earth? How could you run from a beast that you cannot see? He didn't know, but he continued to run and never look back. 

It was just like his dream; the dark forest, the snarling in his ear... The Hellhound was on his tail, and he couldn't get away. He was utterly afraid, and that's what kept him running. This adrenaline surging through his veins... The thought of his brother... He had to run. 

He could remember that moment perfectly from only hours before:

"This is it," Dean breathed, clutching a revolver in his hand as he stood outside the bunker. "They're coming."

"We'll get through this," Sam promised, up against his back, looking into the distance. They were surrounded. He could feel their presence lingering everywhere; their beady, red eyes beaming from the trees... From in front of the bunker's door. 

"Sammy, I have to do this alone. I'm not letting you die for me. Not again," it was more so of a command than a suggestion.

"Like Hell I'd let you do this!" Sam snapped, but he could hear the edge of fear in his voice. 

"Sam. Go," Dean cried, "Before they attack. This is my fight, and mine alone. It may have sounded like a good idea before, but it's too risky. It's so damn stupid if you try to save me. They'll only tear you to shreds if you stay."

Sam lingered there for a moment, then forced himself to look at his brother. "Run; never look back. Whatever you do... Just run," he breathed, "And... I love you."

Silver lined his eyes. "I love you, too." And then his brother was gone, already sprinting through the trees, away from the Hellhounds--to safety. Good.

And now he was here, running through the trees like his brother had. Hellhounds snapped at his ankles, their paws smashing against the cold, hard ground like elephants. Pain pricked at his stomach. Not from the Hellhounds... But from the thought of his little brother. God, he wanted to be by his side, but he wouldn't put Sam through this shit. He needed to know that he was safe.

But as he continued to run, he could feel the Hellhounds nearing... Too close, too close... He needed to quicken his pace, he had to get away. And--

Piercing blades sunk into his ankle, cold liquid instantly escaping his leg. He yelped, instantly crashing into the floor. No, no, no, no.... They got him. He couldn't get away. His ankle screamed with pain, blood coating his leg and the cold, frosty floor. It was excruciating, but nothing compared to what he'd endure next. 

The Hellhound dragged him, his tendons in his ankles snapping, causing him to let out a horrifying and painful scream. He thrashed against the teeth, but it only made things worse, and he had to stop. Had to give up...

But then it stopped. His ankle was freed, and the constant huffing of the hound stopped. Utter silence. He lifted his gaze, silver lining his eyes, blocking out most of his vision. What happened? He flipped his body over, crying out in pain, unable to look at the damage done to his ankle. He wiped away his tears, instantly spotting a Sasquatch like man in the distance, clutching a long, blood covered blade.

The features were familiar: long brown hair, a square jaw with a slight chiselled chin, his hazel eyes that shone so brightly, yet can easily be dulled. His frame was broad and muscular--the body of a hunter. 

Sam.

Oh no. He told him to run--to get away from this horrid fate. But, of course, knowing Sam, he'd never leave Dean behind. But why couldn't he do this for him? Why was his brother being so selfless and not running for his life right now? Dean cringed with pain and ire, but words wouldn't make out. He was relieved to see his brother, yet so angry that he came back for him.

So damn selfless.

"Are you alright?" Sam said after a moment of his recognition, quickly running towards his brother.

"Peachy," Dean cringed, allowing his brother to hoist him up. He rested on his brother's side, his ankle screaming with searing pain.

"Lets get out of here, before more of those sons of bitches come," Sam said, a dangerous edge to it. Despite the fact that his brother was putting himself in danger, he definitely wanted to get out of here.


	17. Never Look Back - 16

"Wrong side of Heaven,

Righteous side of Hell."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

Never Look Back

They've been watching their backs for the past week.

Whenever a shadow moves, he couldn't help but flinch, afraid that the Hellhounds had found them. This constant fear nagging at them, unable to decipher when the demons would strike. But one thing they knew... Death was coming for them, no matter what happened. So they'd have to live running, like they always have... But this time, they knew the Reaper was knocking, ready to drag them down to Hell.

They found themselves in a run down bar. Tables were thrown to the side, broken glass crunched beneath their feet, and the windows were bordered up. At least there was liquor--but not much. Dean instantly went for a glass of whiskey, limping towards it like a child, chugging down a shot. The burning liquor ran down his throat, and he let out a satisfied sigh. Sam watched him do so, shaking his head. Not from annoyance, but with question.

"What?" Dean huffed, deciding to sip from the bottle. He might as well, if no one else was going to drink from it.

"How could you waste your time drinking when there are angry demons coming for us?" He inquired, clutching the revolver in his hands. Dean noted his ivory knuckles, but ignored the irritation and fear.

"Alcohol is the key to everything," Dean told him, taking another swig of whiskey. "Without it, how could we escape our pain?" Sam stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly, not saying anything. "Exactly," he said with shaky triumph.

But just when Sam was about to say something, he heard a low, dangerous growl from outside. He quickly whirled around, revolver adjacent to his shoulders. If it were a Hellhound, then he knew it wouldn't do much damage... But it could slow it down. 

Their breathes were uneven, clearly showing their fear. Once that Hellhound came crashing in, he knew Death was coming. Either for them, or that beast. 

After listening to the circling of the beast outside, the clicking of nail against wood stopped. Dean breathed in a shaky, shallow breath, eying the bar's front door. He lowered his revolver, but just as he did so, the beast came crashing in, instantly landing on top the older Winchester. Dean screeched, feeling nails dig into his flesh.

"Dean!" Sam cried, the revolver's bang nearly blocking out his words. Dean thrashed against the Hellhound, excruciating pain surging throughout his limbs. He heard another bang, and the Hellhound yelped, falling to the side. Dean's eyes were wide, taking his brother's hand as he offered it.

"Run," Dean breathed, limping as fast as he could towards the fallen door. Sam obliged, running after the eldest Winchester. That Hellhound wasn't going to stay down for long. And once it got back up, it'd be furious. 

When Dean spotted the impala, he jumped into the driver's seat, turning the key to start the engine. He heard her purr, letting out a satisfied cry, but then it died. Dean tried again, but a sad whine escaped the engine, showing that it was dead.

"No," Dean cried. "C'mon Baby, not today!" He slammed a hand on the dashboard, continuously trying again and again for it to stop.

"Dean..." Sam said with warning, making Dean's gaze travel upwards. Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit... He watched a long, shard of wood get thrown outside of the building, landing into the dusty floor. "Come on, Baby," Dean pleaded, "You can't die on me today, you son of a bitch..."

Sam warned him again, watching a plume of dust rise. It was coming. Oh, they were so dead. Dean turned the key, the impala whining again, then coming to a stop. What was wrong with her? Then, after a moment, the engine began to smoke. What the hell...

After a realization, Dean's eyes widened, and he instantly yelled, "She's gonna blow!" The Winchesters jumped from the vehicle, and just as they did so, the sound of a horrible explosion boomed in there ears. Fire illuminated the sky, flames licking towards the bright sun. "You son of a bitch!" 

Baby was gone... The car that had been in their family for decades... Dean's thoughts were ripped apart as he heard Sam grumble something, and Dean instantly stood up, running towards his brother. "It's coming," Sam worriedly said, receiving a 'you think I don't know that' look from Dean. Sam put a hand on his shoulder, turning his brother around. Faintly, he could see the beaming red eyes of the Hellhound. 

"Run!" Dean ordered, then instantly went dashing down the street, despite his torn ankle. It was the least of his problems. They had to run and never look back. 

Run, or the Hellhounds would drag them to eternal Hell.


	18. The Devil -17

"If there's no one beside you,

And your soul embarks,

Then I'll follow you into the dark."

~Sam Winchester, Supernatural

 

The Devil

He told his brother to run, but he was frozen in place.

A hidden force--no, a feeling in his gut--preventing him from running. He had no idea what it was, but it was strong and unforgiving. Dean looked around, the Hellhound halting, and his eyes fell upon a female. The same one that sold him his soul.

The demon smirked, tilting her head to the side. "Dean and Sam Winchester. What a pleasant surprise!" When neither of the duo responded, the demon added, "I see you found my dog."

"He's a real treat," Dean growled, crossing his arms.

The Crossroads demon laughed sweetly, saying, "I thought I told you about what would happen if you tried to sidestep Death." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna hand over my life like a bone," Dean snapped. The demon laughed horribly, her head throwing back. 

Sam clenched his fists, but didn't say anything. For some reason, he wished he had. The demon said, "Isn't that what you did, though? Sold your soul for your brother?" Her grin was wide, a dangerous edge in her voice.

When Dean didn't respond, it was Sam that did. "Well, you're not gonna get it as easy as you thought." His eyes flickered with rage, revenge. Something he had seen so much, yet it was so rare. If their lives weren't on the line, he'd bet money that Sam would kill that demon without hesitation.

"I'm not?" The demon tilted her head to the other side, in question. 

"Like Hell you're gonna get it without a fight." Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon, seeing something hidden in that gaze. Something great and unpleasant. Something that nerved him, and never seen in other normal demons.

The demon laughed lowly, and with the flick of her finger, Sam went crashing to the side, colliding into the combusted impala. "Sam!" Dean exclaimed, already running for him, but he instantly was frozen in place. "Sam!" He tried again, but he was paralyzed, unable to do anything.

The demon clicked her tongue, shaking her head with amusement. "Never run from the Devil," she hissed, her voice cracking, revealing the truth. Oh no. No, no, no, no...

He was so damn stupid.

That radiation--that power that illuminated her soul--wasn't like other demons. He knew that. But he had felt it before. He'd been so close to it before, and it once dwelled inside his brother.

She wasn't a demon; she was Lucifer. The Devil. The one who fell from Heaven and raised the army of tortured, brutal souls known as demons--or his minions. But he took this poor girl's vessel? He shouldn't even be questioning his preferences; he should be quivering with fear. 

"Took you long enough to realize that, I, a 'Crossroads demon', am the Devil. You two are very out of your game." They were. How could they have not seen this sooner?

And he had exchanged mouth to mouth with... Lucifer. He gaged on the inside, despite his fear. He definitely was going to pay the price. He heard Sam mumble something, but he couldn't make it out. Oh Sammy, what have I gotten you into?

After a minute, Dean dared, "What have you done to Cas?"

Lucifer snorted, waving a hand. "I've done nothing to him. Though, your little Scottish friend has," Dean's eyes widened, "And I don't think you'll hear from Castiel for a while."

That didn't mean he was dead, right? He had to be alive... He had to be. He clenched his fists, struggling to obtain his calm. He couldn't lash out, for he knew the Devil would only win. But Crowley had Cas all this time... And he didn't even lay a finger to help. Crowley has Castiel... And who knows what damage he has done.

"I don't understand why you're worrying about an Angel, when you should be worrying about yourselves," Lucifer purred.

"If you lay one finger on Sam--"

"You'll do what, exactly? Throw one of those demon knives at my head? Hon, you already know what will happen if you try that again," Lucifer let out a mocking yeesh, snorting a little.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, ire icing his veins. "Just let Sammy go," he begged quietly but not weakly.

Lucifer furrowed her brows, contemplating on whether he should or not. "Fine," Lucifer agreed. "Sam gets to live a long, prosperous life. While you get to be Hell's servant."

Dean sucked in a breath, nodding slowly. "Deal," He said. That one word was so dangerous... People said it all the time, but did they know what they were getting into? A bargain that can never be broken? He had played poker so many times, and didn't even realize the consequences until they finally happened. Until someone got hurt.

And did anyone realize that saying 'deal' meant you can never go back?

Lucifer's smile was grand, and with the snap of his fingers, the whole world turned dark. Darkness enveloped him, forcing itself down his lungs. He let a panicked cry, wrapping two hands to his throat. It forced itself to the bottom of nothingness, until it was fully inside him.

Then he was gone.


	19. The Demon Inside - 19

"You're going to die and this--

This is what you're going,

To become."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

The Demon Inside

He watched the demon posses his brother.

He saw what he had become. What he was utterly unable to prevent. This demon... It now thrived inside Dean, and he didn't know what he could do. He could only feel utter panic, his lungs collapsing, his hands shaking. He couldn't do anything, and for that, he was useless. Just a by-stander. Just a damned coward.

Lucifer had disappeared, along with his beastly pet. It only left the brothers alone. But was Dean still his brother? He closed his eyes at the thought, inhaling a long, painful breath. What would he do? He had no freaking idea.

Dean collapsed to the ground, and Sam just cowered before the impala, unable to move from his spot. Should he help his brother? No. Dean wasn't himself--not anymore. This thing inside him... He didn't know what it'd do. But he knew this was a dangerous, dangerous situation. 

But why didn't Lucifer drag him down, anyways? Why didn't he claim his soul? Questions that he couldn't have answered. Things that he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to. But he knew he had to do something.

He rose himself to his feet, his legs shaking, his side screaming with pain. He hadn't noticed the slash against his side till now. It must have happened when Lucifer flung him into the impala... 

He blinked his mind clear, taking a step forward, but as he did so, he heard Dean grunt something. His eyes widened, his body tensing. "Dean?"

Dean shifted a little, then slowly hoisted himself off the ground. He was coated with dirt, and he looked completely normal. But, he saw that demon enter his body. He knew it wasn't him. "Sam?" Oh, his voice sounded afraid--weak. It was as if he were still here--like the demon never claimed his body for a vessel. 

That made him take another step forward, then stiffened as Dean moved an arm. "Get out of his body," Sam snarled, hissing with pain.

Dean tilted his head, giving him a questioning look. "What are you talking about--"

"Don't you dare try to play games with me, demon. I know it's not you."

Dean nearly looked offended, but he quickly dropped his act. "It was worth a shot, wasn't it, Sammy boy?" His voice was... different. Out of place. It was unearthly like--the effect of a demon's possession.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the demon, his hands clenching into fists. "Let him go," his voice was dangerous, but the demon only laughed.

"Dean sold his soul, and I'm here for the prize," It purred. At least Dean's soul wasn't in Hell, continuously being tortured till he couldn't bear it no longer. But the fact that a demon thrived inside him... He wanted to vomit--to scream.

"If you don't de-possess him--"

"You'll what? Do it for me?" He laughed, throwing his head back. "If that happened, his soul will instantly be dragged downstairs, and you will never be able to retrieve his soul. He's gone, and you're helpless to stop it."

His heart stopped. Dean was unable to be saved--to be redeemed from perdition. His soul was gone forevermore. This was it, wasn't it? He would never see his brother again... Never see him as himself. He couldn't accept this. It was too soon... So hard to believe. 

The life of a hunter.

The continuous deaths; the pain, suffering... It never ended. The eternal darkness and curse of this life. The Winchesters could never escape this, and it had finally claimed his brother. Karma was a bitch--and so was the Devil. 

He was so freaking stupid to believe they could sidestep this. To believe they'd be the hunters to live forever--to never be the ones who died and never come back. He had never dreamed of the feeling of no hope--of helplessness. That feeling that clenched in your gut and told you it was over. 

He stared at his possessed brother, watching the eyes that were once emerald flick black. The colour of a demon--the proof that he was gone. So damn stupid to believe they'd be the heroes that never paid the price.

"I should have stayed dead..." Sam whispered. If Dean didn't sell his soul for him, none of this would have happened. Dean would have been alive, free, happy... But he wasn't. He was a possessed asshole, and he'd forever be this way, unless he exorcised him. But if he did, he knew Dean would be dragged down to Hell.

No way of saving him.

No way of coming back.

With Castiel gone, they couldn't raise him from Hell. He had failed his brother. He failed everyone. Maybe this was a test from god. Maybe this was payback. Maybe this was just a dream--a nightmare--that he could never wake out of. God, he wished it were. But he knew it wasn't.

This was reality; and Dean wasn't coming back.


	20. Paralyzed - 19

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now isn't death,

It's life. A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean, see what I see; feel what I feel,

Let's go take a howl at that moon."

 

 

 

Prologue

He couldn't move his legs, his arms...

He was paralyzed. Perhaps it was the effect of being tortured for so long. The body's protection of preventing further harm. Or maybe it was a curse, in which the demons caused. He didn't know. He hadn't even known the time of day--or what week, or month, or day was. He'd been down in Hell for too long, and gradually, he didn't care. He didn't care what happened to him, for Hell broke him into a thousand bits.

Castiel sat in a cage, his eyes drooping, the darkness consuming him... The only thing that he could see was the horrifying picture of his dead brothers and sisters. He couldn't get their dead, empty gazes out of his mind. He couldn't get the simple fact that Heaven was gone to go away.

Gone, gone, gone...

He shivered, his feathered wings quivering slightly. Horrible, horrible, horrible... The pain supposedly stopped. It still lingered there; a ghost presence that haunted his dreams--his mind. He just sat there, waiting for Crowley to come back for more blood--for the pleasure of his pain.

He hadn't any idea of what came of the Winchesters. He didn't particularly care, for his thoughts were lost to a single memory. Silver lined his eyes, breathing in an unsteady breath. He was utterly broken, and there was no one to save him--not that anyone would care.

He was just an angel that couldn't fight for his life--that was too broken to even care.

 

~

 

His body was controlled by some... Invisible force. Nothing would cooperate with him. He was utterly lost in his mind, useless to the world. What happened? The last thing he remembered was the dark smoke that illuminated the world... Then nothing. Just complete darkness.

He could see through his emerald eyes, but... It was almost like he wasn't seeing at all. It was as if he weren't in the world, and he was just a bystander--waiting for something to happen. But why wasn't he in Hell? Why hadn't Lucifer dragged him down?

Things he couldn't decipher--things that wouldn't be answered.

He watched as his body began to move down a dark alley, the silent echo of feet against concrete travelling down this street. He couldn't move a damn limb, nor could he make a sound from his mouth. Utterly useless--utterly afraid.

The sound of laughter filled his ears. His laugh--his voice. This thing that was inside him took over his body, and using it to complete its needs. But these needs weren't like others. No, it wasn't money, love... It was the pleasure of watching the life leave a human's eyes. Watching blood pool from a wound, and enjoying the pleasure of shooting someone in the head.

He had to watch this over, and over, and over again. And he swore he was going insane inside.

And no one could save him from this curse--this thing that dwelled inside him.

 

~

 

Samuel Winchester, the brother of a demonic being, whom was once a thriving man, sat in the bunker that once felt like home. Now... It felt just like an abandoned building, with nothing to spare but electricity and hot, running water. There was no life, kindness... Hunts.

Nothing but a lonely brother with nothing left to give.

He lost his mother to a burning fire; his father to the yellow eyed demon; and now, his brother to Lucifer with a forsaken deal. He was utterly alone, and he could do nothing but bear this pain. It was worse than Hell; worse than death.

Everyday he thought his brother, Dean, would walk in, ranting about hot chicks and classic rock, making retorts on almost everything he said. But he never came. He hadn't heard his voice for weeks, hadn't heard a single damn word.

He still thought Castiel would come back, telling him that he found Dean. But then that thought that lingered in the back of his mind... That Cas was dead... He knew he was alone to endure this horrid pain. To know that they failed to save Dean.

And the fact that he failed both of them... It hurt. Real bad.

So Sam sat there in that short, brown table of the Men of Letters like a lost puppy, waiting for someone to come home. So stupid to believe that they would, for they wouldn't. For they were both rotting in their own Hell, while he endured his own.

The price of sidestepping death; the price of the hunter.

Knowing that one day, someone you love would die, and very soon, yourself. He had seen so many die, and never once thought these days would come... Knowing you were alone in the world. Knowing no one was left to care; no one to hold you when hard times came.

Soon, he thought, Hell was coming for him, and he wouldn't stop them.


	21. Sunny Days - 20

"I tried to get through it, I tried to say it was alright,

But every time I tried, It only got worse."

 

Sunny Days

The sleek, black impala hummed down the street, glistening beneath the bright sun.

It didn't match what the world was truly like; dark, painful and horrible. Sam hated how the world could get through life so easily, without knowing truth about it all--the demons, angels and paranormal beings... All that pain that only so many had to endure, and he couldn't escape it. It wasn't fair.

But nothing was, and he had to accept it. He had to accept that his brother was gone, and no matter how hard he tried, his brother would either die, or continue to be possessed by one of the King of Hell's minions.

God, he would trade this life away in a blink of an eye, no matter what else he was offered... if he could forget it all; if he could just be normal for at least one day. He would do it. No matter how selfish and stupid it sounded... Just getting away from it all would make these sunny days actually feel... serene, kind.

Though he knew that wasn't possible. And no matter how far he ran, the demons would always find him. And that lingering thought of his brother being controlled by one of those wretched beings... He had to save him--help him from this hellish fate. 

"You'll what? Do it for me?" The memory was as clear as day. "If that happened, his soul will instantly be dragged downstairs, and you will never be able to retrieve his soul. He's gone, and you're helpless to stop it."

The demon told him that his fate, basically, couldn't be undone--that it was done, and no going back. It was so hard to accept this; to believe that Dean couldn't be saved. You have to, Sam thought to himself, you have to get over it. You must continue on in life; saving people, hunting things... Continue with the family business, never looking back. You cannot save him, Sam. Dean is gone, and that demon is the only source of life he's got.

Why couldn't he accept this? Because Dean was--is--his brother, and no matter what, he'll still love him, care for him. He couldn't stop fighting. He simply couldn't. But maybe, just maybe, he should. He tried--god, he tried so hard--to save him from Hell, and look where they got themselves? Sam was driving to wherever the hell he was heading; and Dean was going around slaughtering people, unable to escape the possession.

He failed everyone; he failed himself, Dean. Everyone that he tried to save, but ended up dying. 

That is why he couldn't accept this, even though he should. Because everything happened because of him, and through it all, he had to fix it. Had to fix the damage he caused to this world. 

 

~

 

The girl was only twelve years old. But the demon didn't care, did he?

Dean watched through his own eyes as the demon plunged a dagger through her heart, watching the light fade from her young, beautiful eyes. No! He screamed at the demon from his mind. She was only a child! 

"Shut up, Winchester," the demon snarled out loud, "you're disrupting my work." Like hell Dean cared. If he were able to stop this, he would. But he was helpless to it all, and this demon stumped him. 

Though, he chose this. Being possessed by a demon instead of eternal Hell. It was better, wasn't it, though? He didn't know. He didn't know of anything, anymore. He was just a lost soul, suffering throughout a world he could only witness. Only see through his eyes, but not physically touch it. God, if he could taste a cheeseburger once again, even just a drop of beer... That would make his day. 

But this demon was so damn selfish to do so.

"You realize every thought you have, I can hear it, right?" The demon said blandly, standing up from his crouched position. Dean didn't give a crap about how the demon felt. It took everything he had. He had nothing left to give, and even if he did, he certainly wouldn't give it to him. 

The demon looked down the dark alley, the streetlight flickering, and a chill enveloping him. It looked from left to right, then back down to the child. A soul of pure white--of innocents and beauty--was released from the dead child of youth, and a reaper appeared only twenty feet away.

"Isn't it nice to see you, Jezebel?" The demon said sourly, pure disgust slurring off his tongue. The reaper--Jezebel, Dean recalled--cringed at the demon, shaking her head slowly. She moved with feline grace towards them, her slick, black ponytail dancing behind her, and her leather perfectly hugged her curves.

"Pleasure to see you, Nikolai," she sneered. She ran her green eyes up and down the vessel, taking in the Winchester. "I see you have taken a Winchester's form."

Dean didn't like this at all, and he wished he could just spit at her feet. Though the demon held the leash tight, keeping him caged, only able to see through his emerald eyes. He supposed it was a gift, for most were held back, oblivious to everything. But he didn't take it as one. It was a curse--a burden. He hated that he had to witness every damn thing in this forsaken world.

"Dean was very generous," the demon replied smoothly, leaning against the brick wall. Dean couldn't decipher how they could just keep the child's body laying there lifeless, and her soul to just wander the streets, lost forever to the world. Such a horrible thing to do to a young soul.

"I can see that, Nikolai. But why would he want you to be the one to possess him?" It was more so an insult than a question.

Nikolai--the demon--flashed a toothy grin. "Seems as if the Winchesters have a thing for black-eyed demons, unlike you creatures."

Jezebel rolled her eyes, crossing her thin arms, the leather glistening under the little light. "I have souls to collect. I would rather do so than interact with you savages."

"And I, too." Nikolai grinned, and within seconds, the reaper was gone, the soul no where in sight. At least the child wasn't left to be lost forever, confused and afraid. But he hoped that the child didn't have the same fate... That she didn't have to suffer in Hell.

"Let's go, Winchester," Nikolai said with a dark tone. Dean didn't have a choice, anyways. No matter what, he had to follow this bastard.


	22. Paranoia - 21

"There are shadows,

Lurking in every corner,

And no matter how hard I try,

I cannot escape this memory."

 

Paranoia 

The last thing he remembered was the blade to his heart.

He swore that it had plunged through it, and that he saw the light. But... There he stood, a lamppost illuminating the world around him, and the rushing cars driving past. Maybe this was Heaven? No. He remembered what he saw: bodies upon bodies, and nothing but darkness and ash. Heaven was destroyed, and Crowley won the war.

But the real question was: how was he alive, and why was he here?

Castiel hadn't any idea. But he knew he had to figure it out. 

Clutching his torn tan trench coat, the angel began to walk down the street, too weak to teleport anywhere. It seemed his wings were... Incapable of doing anything. Furrowing his brows, he gazed into the darkness, the cold enveloping him, a chill running down his spine. Then he remembered something, mentally slapping himself in the face for not even thinking about it. What happened to the Winchesters? 

So many questions to be answered, yet they probably wouldn't be anytime soon.

Though, how could he have worried about two boys when he was nearly beat to death in Hell? Sighing to himself, Castiel continued on, unsure of where he was going. The irony of all of this--unable to decipher where he was, but he had been alive for centuries, and explored this world for over half of it. 

Knowing that his thoughts were wandering, and he had to focus, the angel stopped in the middle of the street, letting out a long sigh. He had to get to the Winchesters, even if he was weak, he needed to get there quickly. 

Closing his eyes, exhaling another breath, he concentrated on the Winchesters, feeling himself drain. Focus, Castiel. But, for some reason, the only thing he could think of were the cages in Hell, the unending screams of spirits, as well as his own pain. Instantly opening his eyes, his heart beating fast, he knew he was unable to get to the boys. These memories--this fear of Hell--was shocking, and he couldn't decipher why it affected him so greatly. Perhaps because it broke him entirely, and Crowley had killed nearly all of his brothers and sisters. He didn't even know if all of them were alive, and how Crowley was able to kill them all.

The lampposts down the road flickered, sending a snaking chill down his spine, leaving him flustered by the feeling. The darkness unnerved him, and the silence made him anxious to get away from the demons. But there were none. At least, none that he knew of. 

Paranoia... 

Paranoid about things that never scared him before. So strange, so confusing. So frightening. Clenching his hand into a fist, the angel continued down the street once again. He had to get to the Winchesters fast, and he had to repay Crowley with his own medicine.

 

~

 

"Keep em' coming," Nikolai demanded, flicking a finger towards the bartender to get their attention. The bartender frowned, placing down a glass that she'd been cleaning, then pouring the alcoholic liquid into the glass stubbornly.

"High tolerance?" The bartender inquired, hesitantly giving the beverage to the demon.

Nikolai snorted, knowing he had about ten shots, and he hadn't been affected in the slightest of ways. Dean was practically screaming at him mentally, but it didn't effect the demon much, for he only sounded like a pathetic squirrel fighting for a nut. "Oh, you have no idea; I can drink a whole bottle and not go all 'Lindsey Lohan' at parties."

The bartender nodded, clearly not interested in this conversation, judging by the dullness in her hazel eyes and the yawn she resisted. Flashing the female a seductive, yet bored grin, he downed his shot and threw a fifty on the table, only to receive a gaped mouth from the brown haired female. Well he finally got her attention in a more 'positive' way.

"No, that's far too much! Your bill only came to thirty," She protested, throwing her hands up like a child.

Nikolai waved a hand, "not for you, sweetheart. You deserve that fifty. Lets just say it's a friendly tip."

The bartender gave him a 'more like lets have sex tip' look, a brow quirking upwards. Though her cherry lips quirked into a vibrant smile, clearly showing her approval. "Pleasure doing business," the bartender said, resting a hand on her hip. 

Snorting, the demon left the bar, ignoring the angry shouts that continuously echoes throughout his dark mind. Yes, it may have been the Winchester's money, but he didn't give a damn. Dean was caged in his mind, and he would never need to use a bill again to play poker, or do whatever those Winchesters did--he didn't particularly care anyhow.

However, the money could be used for more useful things... But he was a demon! Money wasn't a treat, nor was it a drug. It was simply a piece of paper that people exchanged for useless items, and many different things that didn't even matter to humans alike. Though, alcohol wasn't something that human beings needed--nor did demons and other supernatural beings--it was simply pleasure that let you drift into another world, and actually have a good time. But he didn't get those benefits. He only got that burning sensation in his throat, and that was about it. 

But that was beside the point. 

"So," Nikolai said to Dean out loud, "how do you feel about a good poker game?" He could see the ghost image of Dean's eyes rolling, clearly exasperated with the demon. "What? You don't want to play poker? I thought you live off that game, Winchester." It wasn't a question; it was a simple statement.

When Dean didn't say anything to him, he crossed his arms, turning into a narrow alley which lead to a casino. "Whatever, no matter what your opinion is, my friend, I will still use your money for useless ways." 

Feeling Dean scratch at the sides of his mind, the demon's lips curved into a pleased smile. At least he got the Winchester to react.

But this was only the beginning of his game. There were many things to accomplish--many things to repay to the Winchesters. Starting with hunting his little brother, Sam.


	23. Plans - 22

"I could kill you, snap my fingers,

The easiest thing in the world,

From here on, I want you to know that,

The only reason you're alive,

Is because I allowed it."

~Crowley, Supernatural

 

Plans

Crowley sat before a bunch of buzzards, listening to the usual 'pathetic squirrels have sold their soul and they have ten years to live'.

Crowley didn't particularly care; he didn't need to be informed, for he already knew when these idiotic humans sold their souls. It was quite obvious, especially when you stroll down the streets of earth, practically hearing their depression and whines. Though, what else were the demons to do? Sit around and pout, doing nothing but admire their King of Hell? They had to do something, so pointless jobs kept them working, and not sitting on their lazy asses.

Though, one thing really got his attention. A demon named Nikolai, he believed, hadn't reported back for quite some time. And today, one of his messengers came back to tell him that Nikolai has a new, dangerous vessel, in which is why he hasn't returned.

"So, you mean to tell me that Nikolai thinks he's too good for me because of a new vessel?" Crowley spat at the messenger, whom hadn't had a name--or he did, but he didn't want to know it.

The messenger practically shook on his two legs, wide eyed before the King of Hell. "Nik-Nikolai said that his vessel is Dean Winchester, and he di-didn't want to be challenged. Or... something like that."

Crowley clenched the arms of the throne, extremely agitated with this pathetic buzzard. "Dean Winchester?" Crowley repeated, trying to contain his outburst of anger.

The messenger curtly nodded, taking a step back. "The rumours m-may be true, my king," he said. "But this is only what I've been informed... And--"

"Dean Winchester has been possessed and you mean to tell me now?" Crowley spat, his face turning a dangerous red.

"We've only been informed today--"

Crowley interrupted him again, "I don't give a squirrel's tail about when you've been informed!" He should have been informed to the second it was told--to the second it happened. "Dean Winchester was supposed to be in the cages of Hell, but apparently some buzzard took his body instead? I want Nikolai found, alive or dead, I don't care. We have many things at line here, and with us conquering Heaven, we need more souls. And without that squirrel's source of energy, how are we going to do so?"

The messenger didn't dare to shrug, didn't dare to say 'I don't know'. He just stood there, wide eyed and afraid. That made Crowley smirk, but instantly died. "Now go fetch," Crowley dismissed him. 

The messenger was instantly gone, leaving him alone in the dark corridors of Hell. Huffing to himself, Crowley rested his chin in the palm of his hand, tapping his finger lightly on the armrest with the other. 

There was so much to plan, to think about. 

Soon he was going to have Heaven's keys, and then, Earth--no, the Universe--would be his. No one was able to stop him, and there was no going back. Soon, he thought, the world would bow down before him, just like how the angels did.

 

~

 

Castiel tried to get a hold of Dean, but the line wouldn't go through. Strange, Cas thought, you'd think that man would get back to him as soon as he could. Though, those Winchesters were always busy, despite the fact that he had been missing for God knows how long.

Searching throughout America, the angel found nada. He couldn't only teleport short distances--town by town every once in a while. He found that this was wasting his poor time, and each second that he wasted walking was a risk for the Winchesters--and himself. 

Pushing a coin into a pay-phone, the angel tapped his foot on the ground, listening to the machine ring. Again, the voice said: you cannot reach this number, for it isn't in use. Letting out a frustrated cry, Castiel slammed the phone back onto its place, storming away from the wretched thing. Why have a phone and not use it? Pointless.

Maybe he was over-reacting... But, frankly, without being able to reach the Winchesters, they were one step closer to be vanquished from this world. He, vaguely, remembered the words whispered into his ear by a familiar, Scottish accent: 'the world is gonna die, and I'm gonna be the one who builds it up. And once I do, you will all bow down to me'. He shivered at the memory, shutting his blue eyes, leaning against a cold brick wall. His heart beat as fast as a drum, his hands shaking as he ran his fingers through his raven black hair.

The flashes of memories; the angels that bled dry, the King of Hell torturing him until he couldn't open his eyes. Horrible, horrible. Things he couldn't escape. Things that he had to righten. 

Because of him, he allowed Crowley to steal their Grace; to steal the last bit of power the angels had. The King of Hell could do so, so many things with their Grace. What really scared him, though, was the thought of how Crowley would use them.

You could control thousands; kill millennia; destroy worlds; become a powerful figure and rule the Earth without much as blinking an eye. 

Winchesters, Castiel thought sadly, I am sorry. I will find you; I will righten things. I will make sure Crowley seeks his grave before he seeks the lives of others.


	24. Lost And Found - 23

"I wanted to fall down right there,

But I knew you wouldn't catch me,

Because you're already dead."

~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

 

Lost and Found

He felt utterly useless; utterly hopeless.

You'd think a hunter that has defeated the leviathans and the devil himself would be able to save his god damned brother. But, apparently, he was quite out of luck. Nothing told him how to get out of a deal; how to save a soul from a contracted possession. Heck, they didn't even exist! But, somehow, Lucifer made it happen, and it was seemingly worse than a normal possession.

He tried so hard to find the cure. So hard to save Dean. But he wasn't even offered a dime for his efforts. But, did he even deserve ten cents? No. He deserved nada, because he couldn't do what he should have done: save his brother. 

Ironic, Sam thought, that he told his brother to have hope, but in the end, it was he who didn't. Such a strange life--a horrible and strange life. Sam knew he was letting this depression take over. Letting the demon in his mind gnaw away until there was nothing left but complete darkness.

No. He had to be strong; had to believe he could save Dean, even if there was a zero point one chance on him actually doing so.

Standing up from the long, wooden table in the bunker, Sam made his way outside, letting himself be exposed to the frigid air of fall. He was Sam Winchester, the most feared and badass hunter to ever live, and he wouldn't let this one fallout stop him. Wouldn't let one archangel and dumb-ass crossroad demon bring down his spirits.

He would save his brother from that god forsaken demon, even if it were the last thing he'd ever do.

 

~

 

A week, maybe, Castiel had been walking down these cold streets, stealing spare change and food from these humans that were found in every corner. He didn't know where these human needs came from; why he had hunger, thirst and fatigue. Something happened to him down in Hell, and he would figure it out soon.

But first, the hunt for the Winchesters were at the top of his list.

Feeling as if he'd been hit by a thousand stones, Castiel dragged himself down the concrete road, the breeze worsening the air. It had been spring when he'd been taken, but now it is autumn... The month of fear, demons and the strange Holiday of Trick-or-Treating. So, now he had the idea of how long he'd been gone. A month--possibly more. 

Pausing in his tracks, his wings nearly snapping, his heart stopping.

How had he only just realized this? How had he only just noticed how long he'd actually been gone?

How did he not know that a month had passed, and Dean could already be in his grave? No, no, no, no, no.... He was such an idiot! Such a fool. 

He could feel ire and rage boil his blood, the constant thought of the older Winchester's death vibrating throughout his mind. Dean could be in Hell right now, enduring the worst of pain, and Castiel was unable to prevent this horrible fate. It was his fault, wasn't it? No. Castiel wouldn't think that far. The demons made him useless; prevented him from helping that poor brother.

But that didn't help his rage at all. It only made it worse; made his thirst for revenge more vibrant, more pure.

Clenching his hands in fists, feeling nail break skin, the angel continued his way down that street, his steps powerful and deadly. No cars zoomed past, no humans could see the rage thrumming his bones. Good. He didn't want a human to see the corruption of anger that now controlled him.

 

~

 

Castiel stood before an abandoned building, its massive structure welcoming him. He hadn't realized how close he was to Lebanon, Kansas. He was quite relieved, actually, for he thought he may lose his sanity if he hadn't found it sooner.

Though, the sleek, black impala wasn't located anywhere outside. Furrowing his brows, the angel made his way inside the building, the familiarity beautiful. But, something was missing: Dean. He could feel that his presence was no where to be found, and that it hadn't been there for a long, long time. 

So it must be true. Dean was dead.

Shutting his blue eyes, trying to obtain his calm, the angel sat on one of the wooden chairs by the table with a large map imprinted atop of it. He stroked the surface, the touch ever so cold. He was too late.

But just as he was about to give into weakness, he heard the bunker's door swing open, echoing throughout the building with a boisterous boom. Standing up instantly, he looked up to find a man there that looked so broken, so frail. His long, brown hair didn't look as healthy as before, and blue bags could be found beneath his hazel eyes. His flannel was in desperate need to be ironed, and his jeans didn't hug his waist so well.

But it was still Sam; still the Winchester that he had come to know.

Smiling at the boy, the angel took a step forward, but Sam yielded a step away. Tilting his head with confusion, Castiel murmured, "Sam?"

"Where were you?" Sam's voice sounded so weak, so hopeless. This wasn't the Sam he knew. But perhaps this is what happened to him after his brother's death. But, all in all, Sam's words still hurt him, despite the boy's pain and despair. Castiel was expecting a happier reunion. 

"Crowley tortured me, and--"

"No," Sam shook his head, "after all of that. Where were you?" 

"Sam, we don't have time for this. Where is Dean?" He needed to know.

Sam laughed bitterly, silver lining his hazel eyes. He was weakening, and this wasn't good. Not at all. "Oh, ye know, drinking beer and stabbing a bunch of girls to death." What? Sam noting his confusion, Sam added, "but Dean doesn't know he's doing that, 'cause some demon's doing that for him."

Dean wasn't in Hell? He was... possessed by some low-life demon? Before Castiel could say anything, Sam demanded, "now tell me where you were." His voice was so angry and deadly.

Castiel sighed, looking down. "I was searching for you. My angel mojo... It's gone," he shook his head sadly. It was such a burden to him... To be useless and not deserve his angelic name. "After being tortured in Hell, I haven't been able to use it."

Sam nodded, running a hand down his face. "So you're useless? You can't do anything to help Dean?"

That struck him hard in the gut. "I will try everything I can, Sam... But--"

Sam interrupted, "But what, exactly? You'll just run around in your little trench coat, fighting demons and saving my brother? No, Cas. You can just sit down like a dog you are and let me do the fighting."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. "This isn't just your fight--"

"Yes, it is. And no matter what, you'll only disappoint those you love. You are nothing but an angel without his Grace; just a useless vessel. Let the real men do the fighting."


	25. Broken - 24

"You beat me,

To my final breath,

And to this day,

I am utterly broken."

 

 

Broken

He didn't know why he had been so bitter to Castiel... But something inside him snapped at the sight.

He should have been there. Cas should have helped him save Dean. Maybe he had been tortured, but he was an angel for crying out loud! Some pesky demons could be brought down by the snap of his fingers, but somehow, he let them torture him; beat him to prevent the search of his brother. 

Maybe he shouldn't be so judgemental. Cas, after all, seemed so broken. In such pain after Sam's snapping; after figuring out that Dean was possessed. It wasn't Cas' fault, was it? 

No.

But something inside him needed to blame someone. Needed to believe it hadn't been him who was too weak to save Dean. 

So stupid to act like such a child. But he needed this. Needed someone to blame besides himself. If only he could just tell that Cas, and to make it the truth. 

But, frankly, you cannot run from what is true.

Can't run from anything, anymore. 

So Sam Winchester just stood there, finding himself by an ocean peak, staring at the waves crash along the store and retreat back to the the ocean. The wind kissed his face, the salty sea enveloping him. So simple, so beautiful. If only life could just be like an ocean. Endless, perfect, kind. 

Impossible things. Things only a fool would ask for.

And he wasn't a fool. He knew that asking for such things could never exist. It would be a supernatural life. Ironic, actually. He lived in a world of monsters, pain and suffering. And living in a world of peace, generosity and calm simply could never exist; could never truly be what he asked for. 

He tried once. He had loved a girl named Jessica, whom he was to marry but then tragically died in a fire caused by the Yellow-eyed demon, and he had went to college. But, of course, his past caught up to him, forcing him into the life he was destined to live. He didn't want this. No one did. But, someone had to do it. Someone had to pay the price for others to live.

And his brother suffered greatly. He went to Hell and back, as well as suffered in Purgatory. They fought off demons, saving people and hunting things without so much as a thank you. The price of a hunter, the price of a man with nothing left to give.

And Castiel had helped them so much, giving everything he had to save them and the world. So why couldn't he forgive him? Why couldn't he just be like those ocean's currents? Coming up with much rage, but then only to calmly yield away with ease. 

It's because he couldn't forgive any longer. Only pain greeted him in the end. Only condemnation, and pain upon pain upon pain. Forever, infinity. 

He tried so hard, but the darkness that dwelled inside him clicked. The darkness that fed off him every day finally won. 

And he welcomed it. 

 

~

 

Castiel could see the change; the darkness and hatred that dwelled inside the younger Winchester. He had seen it before. He knew that due to all this chaos, all this pain, the demons finally won. He only wished Sam could have held longer.

That he could have fought against those demons.

But he wasn't human, was he? What did Castiel know about pain? He didn't know much. He only knew that it could feast off a soul, and soon, break them into a thousand pieces. He should have seen this coming. 

But, throughout all of this, something buzzed inside his mind, a constant voice calling out to him. He hadn't heard this for so long, but it was so hard to forget. Angel radio was on. But... how? He witnessed their bodies splayed across the field of blood; the field of fallen angels. They were lost, gone in a blink of an eye. He didn't know where they had gone, but, somehow, they could communicate despite their disappearance?

Perhaps they weren't lost. Perhaps they simply left without word.

No. He couldn't be so naive, so stupid.

Crowley, that god damned fool, had taken them. He knew this, and it wasn't forgotten, despite the torture that he endured for so long. But one question remained: why now? Why contact him now at this moment, after him being freed? He wasn't an idiot, he'd give himself that, and he knew that Crowley wasn't one, either.

Sucking in a breath, looking around the dark from of the bunker, he tapped into angel radio. What is it, brother? Whispering. 

What is it that you need? What happened? Are you alright? More whispering. He tried again and again, but the same whispers responded, the word of "Castiel" the only thing he could depict.

Until then he heard: A war is looming, and the demons will not be merciful.


	26. Blood - 25

"I've got demon blood in me, Dean,

The disease pumping in my veins,

And I can't ever rip it out or rub it clean."

~ Sam Winchester, Supernatural

 

Blood

Castiel had warned Sam about what the angels said. A war was looming, and he was in the middle of it.

He, honestly, didn't expect this. Sure, the demons are messed up and gaining power... But war? There was already enough on his plate, and currently, he could hardly even sleep due to the fact that Dean was a demon himself--well, he was possessed by one.

Sam looked into the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection, seeing nothing but a broken, dark man. He let the darkness take over; he let revenge set in his mind; he let himself become something he didn't want to become again. He's been through this before... The darkness that eats your soul away until there was nothing left. He had promised himself he'd never do this again, but the whispers nagging at his mind, telling him it was alright... That he could be a psychic again... He knew it was the best solution.

The best solution to save Dean; to save the world.

Maybe he was an idiot for thinking such things, for being so foolish, so naive... He knew this would be the only way to save everyone, excluding himself. He knew that if he did this, if he drank demon's blood, he knew it couldn't end well. But despite it all, this wasn't just about him. It was about his family, the world, the angels, the demons... 

A war was coming, he knew that, and going against his promise could stop it all. Couldn't it?

At least, he hoped it would. He hoped that somehow everything could get better. That somehow, he could save the people of the earth by doing this small, idiotic deed.

Becoming a psychic. Again.

Dean would be furious; Cas would be furious. But who gave a damn? Dean was gone--partly--and Cas had no part in this. He didn't care what that angel thought.

He clutched the bowl of blood in his hands, glaring at his reflection. There was nothing good in those hazel eyes. Hatred for the world, himself remained. A dull coat on his eyes, consuming light instead of reflecting it. So inhumane, so strange. Even his brown, long hair looked duller. It was as if the light couldn't allow it to be lustrous.

Stress. He was stressing too much; thinking too much.

So much on his mind: the war, his brother, the angel that wasn't there when he needed him most.

He closed his eyes, unable to stare at himself any longer. Too much to bear, too much to see. His hands turned ivory as he clutched the bowl harder, feeling as if they may break into a thousand different pieces. He could do this. He could drink the blood, for it was for him. It was for everyone he loved, everyone he saved, the people he didn't know... The innocents...

So he held the bowl of demon's blood to his lips, sucking in a breath. "You can do this," he whispered. He tipped it forward, opening his mouth to drink the blood--

"Sam?" A voice sounded behind him, making him jump and drop the bowl. Cursing himself, he watched as the blood spilled, enveloping the floor with the sticky, red liquid. Turning around, glaring at the angel that stood there, he said:

"What?" A question that was so obvious, a question he already knew the answer of. A pointless, stalling question.

"What are you doing?" Castiel's voice was calm, but he could hear the tension and anger in it.

Sam decided to not lie. It was pointless. Sighing, the male answered, "I need to do this. I need to drink demon's blood"--It sounded so strange, so insane--"It's the only way--the only way I know--of how we're going to save Dean, of how we're going to stop the war."

"Sam," Cas began, "you don't have to do this. You can't. You know what happened when you drank demon's blood, you know what you became. You were not the same man; you were dark, evil..." His ice blue eyes shut, shaking his head slowly, in-doubtfully trying to get it out of his head... The memory of those dark days.

Sam couldn't control himself back then. The visions, exorcising demons with his mind, killing demons for pleasure... He knew it would happen again. It was too hard to resist, and he knew that.

"But what if it's the only way?" 

'What if' was always the question standing in the way.

"It might not be, Sam. There's always another way, even if it's hard to find. In my darkest times, I always questioned myself, always questioned my actions... No matter what, there is always another answer. You just have to find it."

"And if I can't?" What if there wasn't another way, if becoming a psychic could fix things... For some reason, he was afraid for Cas' answer.

"Then we'll do what we have to do."


	27. This is War - 26

"Demons run when a good man goes to war,

But it turns out that I'm the one that's running."

~ Sam Winchester

 

 

This is War

Nikolai knew Dean Winchester was trying with all his power to de-possess him, but however, it was simply impossible to do so.

And, even if he could, he wouldn't exactly want that to happen, for the news of "war" has been spreading faster than he imagined. He wasn't particularly thrilled about it, considering that Crowley was the one leading the demons and angels into battle. Yeah, that bastard had the angels in his command. He, honestly, never thought that would be possible. Well, it was Crowley, the supposed "Almighty King of Hell".

The irony of it all. You'd think the once-bitch-of-the-devil couldn't actually raise his own army, and practically win the war without it starting. However, no one could call the shots yet.

Though, the strange feeling crawling up his spine was telling him that Crowley had something bigger.

But he didn't know his intentions, did he?

And he shouldn't even care, right? Well, he knew that Dean did, because just as he thought such things, an excruciating headache pounded throughout his brain that felt like an eternity. Slamming his hands on the bar table before him, startling the bartender, Nikolai cursed to Dean and thought: Get over it, you worthless bag of meat. The world's gonna die, and at least you'll be safe in my head.

No one's ever safe, demon. Believe what you believe. But, soon, I'm gonna get your rutting ass out of my mind, and you'll never wish you laid one of your revolting hands on me. Dean's words, even in Nikolai's head, sounded promising and deadly.

He knew not to mess with the Winchester, despite the fact that he was only a soul stuck in his body. He couldn't help but smirk a little.

Dean Winchester should be thankful that he didn't have to go through this Hell--well, not initially. He could practically smell the war that was the midst; he could taste the blood already, even when none has been shed. This war that was coming... That damned Winchester was lucky he didn't have to endure this.

But just as he thought of such things, a sudden chill snaked down his spine, and the overwhelming power of something... Something powerful that wasn't friendly, wasn't willing to be merciful.

Lucifer.

His confidence instantaneously vanquished into nothing, leaving him to stand paralyzed for he was petrified. He himself would say he was acting like a definite wuss, and that he was just a coward like what demons are known for. Of course this reaction was normal, for Lucifer was the King of demons, and he is a fallen archangel--the most powerful and righteous forms of angels, despite the 'fallen' aspect.

In a blink of an eye, the Devil appeared in front of him, the powerful aroma practically radiating like the hottest volcano. He had never truly encountered Lucifer, besides taken the vessel of Dean Winchester. And he didn't think he could count the brief telepathic meeting as 'encountering' the Devil. But, however, it was more terrifying than having Donald Trump elected as president--well, he didn't particularly care for human politics, which was beside his point here. 

As he stared at the Devil, the bar blurring out of his vision, and the red lights as lustrous as blood, he knew that his vessel was weak. At least Lucifer had one weakness: frail bones like a grandfather. But, of course, the fact that no matter what, Lucifer could still snap his fingers and have him spontaneously combust in a matter of moments. So, he would keep his tricks up his sleeves.

"Nikolai," Lucifer began, "it's been too long." About two weeks was too long for the real King? Typical.

As if reading his thoughts, Lucifer said, "We should meet up more often, Niki. Two weeks is a rather long time--for human time. But, we don't go by that, do we?" He paused, waiting for a reply with an expectant gaze.

"No, we don't." Nikolai's words sounded like poison--a disgrace--to utter. Speaking to the Devil with such a tone was dangerous, and he certainly didn't want his 'suit'--AKA 'Dean'--to get dirty. And just as he thought so, he could feel the eternal blow. Hissing to himself, he forced himself to eye Lucifer confidently, holding his breath.

Lucifer eyed him warily, then said, "As you heard, Crowley dear has gone practically insane, and now is on the urge of war." Nikolai quirked a brow as if to say: and what about it, exactly? I don't have all day. "Niki, demons don't age; you have all the time in the world," he mused. "Though, to get to the matter of business... I want you to do some dirty work for me."

Nikolai choked. "Dirty work? And what the hell is that?" He didn't care for his tone; he certainly wasn't doing anything for the devil if it applied to... Something "dirty".

Lucifer's head threw back, a roar of laughter booming throughout the bar, receiving concerned gazes from multiple customers. Ignoring it all, Lucifer said, "I need you to work with Crowley, figure out his plans, maybe go to war with him. I just need you to be my little Spy Kid."

Nikolai frowned. "First of all, I am not a 'Spy Kid'. Secondly, I don't want anything to do with that Scottish bastard."

Lucifer nearly grew another twenty feet. "It wasn't a suggestion, demon. You will do as I say, for I gave you your Winchester. You will do as I say for I am the Devil, and you will bow down to me."

Nikolai was shaking too much to be surprised that the bar didn't even notice any of this. Nikolai was indefinitely screwed. Maybe this was how he was going to die... Getting yelled at by a Devil with extra-large horns. Oh, god.

"You. Will. Bow. Down. To. Me." His words were deadly... A poison that could kill in seconds like a rattlesnake. Oh, god. He was a snake, he was the Devil, and he was an archangel. And Nikolai knew—Dean Winchester begged him—to do as Lucifer said, or he knew what would come next. Death. Or worse: eternal damnation to Hell—AKA, the Cage.

He shook more, his legs giving way. He didn't fight his buckled knees; he had to bow down, anyway. His knees crashed to the ground, screaming in pain as the hard tile met bone. A few oblivious alcoholics spared him a glance, but did nothing. They were too drunk to care; too cold hearted to give a damn about another. He shouldn't care, anyhow. He was a demon, and Lucifer would prevent any sort of help. Oh, Nikolai was definitely screwed.

He sunk low, hands brushing against the bitingly cold tile, forehead touching the floor. He could practically feel the grin that spread across Lucifer's ugly features. He could smell that rotten odor that illuminated from his mouth. It was revolting, but it wasn't what he cared for at the moment. He was too scared to do anything.

"Good," Lucifer purred, crouching in front of him. "Now what is it that you will do for me?" A challenge, indefinitely.

Nikolai gulped, hearing Dean's words whisper in his mind: do as he says or we're both screwed, demon. He nodded slowly, knowing it was a wise choice to say yes and "work" with Crowley. He wasn't thrilled with any of this, but if he wanted to survive, then he had to do what the Devil asked.

Or, at least, lie like he always did.

But the risk of being caught... He lived a good millennia, and being 'bad' couldn't hurt. And he didn't give a rat's ass about Dean Winchester; he could rot in Hell for all he cared.

"I will give the information from Crowley for you, Lucifer," he lied. Thankfully, Lucifer showed no sign of the lie being detected. "However," he added, "what is in this for me?"

There was always a bargain, despite his mischievous motives.

"What is in this for you?" Lucifer mused, barking a laugh. Nikolai looked up with a raised brow, a serious face spreading across his features. "There is nothing in this for you, Niki. Well, maybe a pat on the back, or just a nice trip to Hell would do you good. But," Lucifer looked him up and down, "you'll be in Hell, anyways."

Anger boiled in his bones, but he didn't show it. He had to get out of here somehow, and he wasn't going to get himself into more trouble. "Now be gone," Lucifer, his eyes glowing a horrifying red, dismissed the demon just like that.

And he thought that God wasn't there for demons. He thought that the "Father" wasn't merciful. Maybe he shouldn't have doubted him, even if they had great rivalry.

Without waiting for another command or the Devil changing his mind, Nikolai teleported himself away from that wretched bar, not bothering with a tip—or to even pay, for that matter. He heard Dean sigh with relief in his mind, but he knew it wasn't the end of being encountered by the Devil.

He may have lied, but now he wasn't so sure if he should go against the Devil's orders. Even Dean told him to do as he asked, even if Lucifer was a bastard.

And, Nikolai could use Crowley's information to his own advantage.

Considering these thoughts, Nikolai teleported to Hell, standing before the King of Hell. If he went to war with the Scottish Bastard, or at least helped him out a little—or just simply lied and screw him over, which would in-doubtfully be entertaining—there could be so much fun to have.

"Hello, Crowley," Nikolai purred. "A little bird told me that we're going to war, and I would love to be your knight in shining armor."


	28. Bad Moon Rising - 27

"I told you that the world was a horrid place,

I told you that you cannot trust no one,

I told you that there is darkness rising,

I told you that no one gives a damn about how you feel,

But even despite what I told you,

You still continued to believe in a better place; a better world,

And that is why you met your grave."

 

 

Bad Moon Rising

"My knight in shining armour?" Crowley couldn't believe what he was hearing. This demon, who had proven indefinitely that he was using Dean Winchester's vessel, wanted to help him? That is the most crazy thing he has heard so far.

And that is why he couldn't trust Nikolai: no demon goes running to the big boss after they took vessel of the most feared and powerful man on earth. However, Nikolai could, possibly, prove his allegiance. But, he highly doubted he would do so, despite what he had told him.

"Yes, my King," Nikolai answered. Even Crowley could here how sour Nikolai said 'king'. He just ignored it, trying to bring down his flushed cheeks, for he didn't want to look embarrassed in front of a commoner. "With all the talk of war and all, I was thinking: wouldn't it be fun to bring down some son's of bitches and raise a little Hell?"

Of course Dean Winchester was influencing this demon. Never had he heard one speak like this... He couldn't help but cringe. "And you want to partake in this war? You, I find, has always been a coward. Running without end... And even with that Squirrel under your command, you still ran," Crowley said smoothly, watching as Nikolai's face turned an angry crimson, and a muscle feathering in his jaw. A grin spread across his lips.

Then Crowley added, "And weren't you and little Luci working together?"

Nikolai hesitated for a moment, but then said, "I ditched that bugger. I knew that if I used him to my advantage and steal this Winchester, I could screw him over in an explicit way. I realized that you, Crowley, can help me, and I can help you--"

"Let me stop you right there, Nikolai," Crowley spat, "you will not be screwing me over. I don't need you and your Winchester to help me, and I certainly won't let you think that you can trick me into your little games."

Nikolai stopped dead right there, looking up at him like a lost puppy. Good. Let him think over what he said; let him realize who he was talking to.

"But I wasn't planning to do so, King. You are so much more powerful than the Devil. Sure, he may be an archangel, however, but you have all the demons, the angels... You have proven to be the most intelligent demon out there. You, Crowley, cannot be fooled, and I know that even if I had tried to screw you over, it would in-doubtfully never work."

Crowley considered his words, his grin widening. He definitely liked being complimented in that way, even if he were being sarcastic, which he didn't think this demon was doing so. "And if I were to believe you... What would you do for me?"

Nikolai smirked, and then said, "Give you what Lucifer has given me: information on his plans."

Crowley leaned in, a brow quirking at it's highest peak. He had information on his plans? This was news, and he was definitely intrigued. "Tell me," he demanded.

"As you wish," Nikolai said with an exaggerated bow. And then, he told Crowley everything.

 

~

 

Crowley learned everything. What Lucifer planned to do to him, how he got through his contract with Dean... Everything that he had never thought he'd receive. And it was all beautiful, so amazing. Something inside him felt whole, but also something inside him seemed to shrivel. Lucifer screwed the King of Hell over, and now he knew how he did so.

But it was so obvious.

All he had to do was get the contract, tear it up, then make a new one--a much better plan. And that infuriated him. He had to admit he hated the Devil even more, despite the fact he had once made him his dog. He shivered at the memories, instantly pushing them aside. He couldn't think about that; he couldn't get distracted when there were bigger things to think about.

And now that he had Lucifer's information, he was going to strike. He was going to put earth in it's place.

So he stood from his throne, passing Nikolai and roared:

"We will go to war now! Tell every demon, every angel that the earth will be ours by daylight. That tonight will be the beginning and end of it all." Crowley turned to Nikolai, his eyes alighting with something dark and evil, something that he hadn't felt for so long. Savageness, power, insanity... Whatever it was, he liked it--no, he loved it.

Instantaneously, the demons obeyed, each and every one disappearing into thin air, obviously moving to tell the others about his command. Crowley's smile was of pure insanity, nothing good there. Nothing should be, anyhow. He was a demon--the King of Hell himself--and nothing was going to change that.

Tonight, the bad moon was rising, and blood will shed like it hasn't ever before. The real and true world war will strike, and it will be last.


	29. Death - 28

"Death is knocking,

And I am awaiting,

For the door to be opened."

 

 

Death

It all happened so fast. In a blink of an eye, the whole world turned black, and he was unable to concentrate; to perceive the world...

He didn't know what happened. A moment ago he was with Cas in the bathroom, and the next... He didn't know. Maybe it was the end. Maybe the demons and that bastard finally won. But did they really? How the Hell would he know?

He could hear a constant ring, and it was excruciating to his ear. He pressed both hands to his ears, trying to block the sounds, but it didn't work despite his best efforts.

He was paralyzed. He was weak. He was hopeless.

The demons got him, and he knew this was the end. But how could he think this way? He'd been tortured by the Devil himself, let him vessel in his body, and he'd died countless times. Crowley couldn't bring him down this easily. Or could he? Sam let out a painful cry, falling to his side as the frequency of the sound became more vibrant, more excruciating. He could feel his ears bleed, blood coming from both and his eyes. He was dying.

He failed Dean.

He failed Castiel.

Failed himself.

Failed every damn being on planet earth.

That was a lot of shit to hold on himself. A lot of shit he deserved. And he knew that. He brought the somewhat end of the world so many times, and he may have fixed it... But it keeps on coming, no matter how hard he tried. And he knew he couldn't deny it. No one could.

A hand grasped his shoulder, words spoken into his ear that he couldn't decipher. The words became a chant, blurring into nothing, and hypnotizing him to a different reality. Then, a bright light shone before his hazel gaze, forcing the darkness to be vanquished into nothingness. But he didn't give a damn. He was dead anyways.

Then, something hoisted him off the ground, his body like a limp bag of bones. But... There was something off about what he saw. He squinted, seeing everything. He saw his body. He was looking down at himself, watching a familiar man drag my body away. And as he got a closer look, he could see who was taking me away.

Castiel.

Were there tears dwelling in his eyes?

Then he realized what was going on. Sam was dead. He was dead. And Castiel, all broken, was taking his body away. But he couldn't heal him. Castiel was a fallen angel, and they couldn't do squat.

Yes, he failed everyone. But he couldn't accept that he was dead. Couldn't accept that Dean was still possessed by a demon, and Sam was unable to save him from the damnation. He would not accept it. Not in a thousand years.

"Sam," a soft voice said behind him.

Sam whirled around, finding the familiar face of Billie there. Of course, his reaper had come to take him away. Either to Hell or Heaven. He wasn't going to either. "Billie," he said. "I'm not supposed to be dead. Not yet."

"Oh, but it is what it is, isn't it?"

Sam shook his head, closing his ghost-like eyes. "Dean is still possessed, the world is dying... I can't meet my grave. Not yet."

"Sam--"

"No, you listen to me, Billie. You can say what you want, but no matter what, I will find a way back on earth. I will find a way out of Hell to save my brother. And you, Billie, cannot stop that."

"I know," she replied. "And that is why I came. That is why I defied Death himself to get here."

Sam tilted his head in confusion, unsure of what she meant. Billie laughed softly, then added, "I'm putting your soul back in that body, and you will do something for me."

"And what is that?" Sam inquired.

"You're gonna punch that Scottish son of a bitch in the face and tell him to go to Hell."

Before Sam could reply, two fingers touched his brow, and a bright light consumed him into darkness. And before he knew it, he had defied Death once again to save the world.


	30. Defiance - 29

"I defied Death, and for that I must pay,

But the road cannot be delayed,

For the war of Redemption is great,

And I am in the middle of the battle."

 

 

Defiance

Death was angry, and Sam knew it. The air was crisp when I awoke from certain death, and he swore that even the wind stopped moving.

Billie was in deep trouble, but he couldn't deal with that now. Sam looked around, blinking once, twice. His vision was clear, but everything seemed... different. New. Like it was the first time truly seeing the world. Or the first time seeing what truly dwelled in the surface of the world. Pure evil.

He looked to the side, seeing Castiel stepping back, his blue eyes wide with shock. "Sam?" The first words he spoke were delirious.

"There's no time for this--"

His words were cut off by a massive explosion, causing him to be thrown to his side. He clutched his side, cringing as he felt something jab into his ribs. He was too late; the demons were in the Bunker, and who knew where else they were.

Despite the piercing pain that made him want to scream, Sam forced himself to stand up, the edge of his vision turning red. He came back to save the world, not to die all over again. Sucking in a painful breath, Sam said, "We have to get out of here."

Castiel didn't hesitate for one second. Quickly, the angel placed two fingers above his brow, and they were transported somewhere else in a blink of an eye. But he didn't know where they were. Both of them were oblivious to the scene before them.

"I don't understand..." Castiel whispered as he scanned the area. "This isn't Kansas."

But it was. A broken sign that was caught in flames had the last remaining word of: Kansas. Everything else was burnt to crisps. As Sam looked around at the horrid scene, all he could see was ruin, ash and fire. The once lush grass was burnt to crisps, and the sky was even grey. Cars were vacated along the cracked streets, and he could smell death for miles.

"We are too late," Sam whispered. His hands shook, tears lined his hazel eyes. How long was he gone? "How did this happen?"

"We were out of it for quite some time, and you... You died. But now you're back."

Castiel stared at me with a stern, yet cautious, frown. "Cas, out of all the ruin and pain in the world, you want to know why I'm back?" The words came out harsher than he intended, but why should he care? His world was dead, and Dean and everyone he knew probably were, too.

Castiel didn't so much as flinch at his words, though. "Yes, Sam, I do. You wanna know why? Because I'm confused and scared, and I just want to know something other than my father's creation being spontaneously combusted."

"A reaper brought me back, alright?" Sam snapped, turning around to walk away. He wasn't going to deal with this. But as he turned around, Dean's gaze met his. But it wasn't Dean.

"Sam Winchester," the demon said with a grin. "Why isn't it my little brother?"

Sam stifled his cry, clenching his fists and breathing in and out, forcing himself to not panic; to not cry like a fool in front of this demon that stole his brother's body. "I don't want to talk," was all he said.

"Ah, is it because I'm your brother? Or," the demon grinned, "Is it because the world you once knew is gone? Forever." That bastard.

"Go away." His words were dangerous, but the pain was audible. He was going to break into a million pieces, and no one could put him back together.

"No," the demon calmly said. "There is something you must do for me."

"And what, exactly, is that? The world is gone, you're using my brother like a puppet, and all you are is a coward that continues to run when there's war, and I swear I'm going to murder something. There's nothing I want from you, and there's nothing you want from me."

All Dean--the demon--do was laugh. The heartless son of a bitch. But he didn't care anymore. There was no point in trying. "Sammy, why so glum? It's only the earth in ruin--and Heaven. There's room in Hell, and you can bunk with me." His grin was serpentine, and it disgusted him infinitely.

"I'll pass." And with that, he brushed past the demon, leaving the angel and demon behind. But then someone grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around to face him.

"You will not pass, Sammy Boy." His words were deadly, and that is what made him oblige. "We must stick together, even despite our race."

"You really think I want anything to do with you?" Sam couldn't help but laugh bitterly. He was surprised he could even do so. "You are a freak, you are using my brother for your own games, and the world is dead."

"No need to be so harsh," the demon muttered.

"It's the truth," Sam shot back. The demon only laughed. It was Dean's laugh; the one he loved and grown up to know. The one that told him that everyday would be better, and we could get through all the pain in the world together.

And Dean was gone. He would never come back.

And that was what made him strike.

In a blink of an eye, Sam was on top of the demon, his fist meeting bone and a horrible crunch being heard for miles. The demon continued to laugh as if he didn't feel a thing. Sam wouldn't stop. His body wouldn't allow it to stop; wouldn't allow himself to let the demon live. But that would mean killing Dean.

But he was gone, anyways.

"Sam!" He barely heard Cas as he called his name.

"Whoever the Hell you are," Sam snarled into the demon's face, "you will wish you never touched my brother. You will wish you were still rotting in Hell."

The demon's laugh was low, and in seconds, Sam was flown off, and the whole world turned black.


	31. The End - 20

"In the beginning, there was light,

In the end, there was nothing left but darkness."

 

 

The End

Castiel stared wide eyed as Dean--the demon--forced Sam to the ground. A deadly snap of his neck echoed throughout the deserted field, and Castiel knew that he was dead. No! Before he could react, the demon turned to Castiel with a devilish grin. "Oh Cas, you didn't know what hit you." He was like the devil, wasn't he? Evil, powerful....

"Let Dean go," was all he said, his words remaining strong.

Nikolai let out a booming laugh, tears nearly meeting his eye. "And why would I do that?"

"So I don't smite you to oblivion."

"Oh honey, you don't have it in you," the demon responded with a cluck of his tongue. "Dean's far gone, but you, Castiel, can't lose another brother."

"What do you mean?" 

"Sammy here ain't breathing, ain't got a beating heart, and you were too wound up with me to even notice." 

No, no, no... This can't be happening. That was proof that Sammy was definitely dead. God, why didn't he do anything to prevent this? Why didn't he fight? Castiel's hands clenched together, and he couldn't stop himself from lunging at the demon. Dean was gone, Sam was gone. The world was gone; the angels; heck, even the demons were in a dictatorship and he could practically include them. He felt as if he were completely alone in this world.

And he was.

Stepping forward, the angel raised his hand, a blue glow illuminating from it. "You deserve to die," he snarled.

"Don't we all?" Nikolai purred, his eyes glinting with mischief. The light bursted from the angel's hand, aimed right at the demonic force, but seconds before it could hit the bastard, he was already gone.

 

~~~~

 

He remembered how the world used to be before this; before the darkness and the demon's reign. When Nikolai hadn't taken over Dean and killed his brother; when the angels weren't massacred. It was beautiful, and it had some type of light that illuminated each and every soul... 

But now, the energy was dark and brutal, and he saw nothing but hatred and fear. Even the humans had gone from normal to savages. And there he was, still standing in the same spot from days ago. It wasn't a long time in angel years, but for humans, it was a lifetime. 

He wished he could have gone back; wished that he could have saved those who were lost.

There was no war. Just a battle that was easily conquered. He should have been there for the angels, but he was too caught up with human problems to even care. And now he regretted his actions.

It was his fault. Everything was. If he had been there in Heaven, the angels wouldn't have died; the demons wouldn't have taken over; the Winchesters would still be alive--and he would have saved Dean from his fate.

But he hadn't.

And it was utterly his fault, and no one could deny it.

"Castiel," a voice said from behind him, causing him to jump. Turning around, a familiar face caught his eye. Chuck--no, God. That bastard.

"Father." His voice cracked, and there was nothing but violence in it. But God didn't seem to notice. Before He could say anything else, Castiel demanded, "Where were you when the angels reached their end of days, and when the demons had conquered the earth?"

"I should have been there--"

"Yes, you should have. But you have done nothing for this world, and you seem to not even care anymore. My brothers--your sons--have all been murdered; your creation are in the wrong set of mind; and the Winchesters are both gone."

"I knew that when Dean sold his soul that the earth was done for," was all He said.

"So you didn't try to warn us?"

God stared at him for a long moment, seemingly stuck with his words. After a moment, He finally said, "This was the earth's destiny." For it to be destroyed? For demons of all kinds to rule it with hatred and destruction and wrath? He couldn't believe it. He simply wouldn't.

"Bullshit," he snarled. 

"I'm sorry," He said.

"No," Castiel said, shaking his head, "you're not." If he was, then he wouldn't have let this happen; he wouldn't have waited so long to tell him this.

God, out of all things, had a painful glance on his face. Castiel wouldn't pity him. He had nothing to give him. "In the beginning, I wanted this world to be perfect. But you see, nothing ever could be. Even you, Castiel, weren't. I thought this world could live in harmony and peace, but everything changed, and Lucifer had gone against my will and created his army of demons. I tried to stop him, but he went against everything I said; everything we lived for. The Darkness, my own sister, tried to go against what I said, but I stopped her before she could ruin everything."

"What do you mean?"

"This," God said, gesturing around them, "was all an experiment. I thought everything could be perfect, so I tested it out, but no matter what I created, there were always 'glitches'. And now I know that my experiment had failed."

"I don't understand," Castiel whispered. "You wanted this to happen?"

"No, not really. I had hope for this world, but you all failed me, just like I had failed you."

"Was this all planned out?" He asked.

"Most of it," God told him. "Dean was a theory, however. I contemplated on whether he would sacrifice himself for his brother or not, and he did, even if he knew Sam didn't want it."

"So you let a world of not just destruction and hatred, but one with love, devotion and loyalty die?"

"Yes," was all he said.

Everything was a lie. Everything he and his brothers had lived to know; every human and creature had believed... were lies? His own father had let this world come to an end. God let Heaven go to it's end of days. 

Everything was gone, not because of Castiel, but because of Him.


	32. Epilogue

Epilogue

1000 years later

 

The world was a disaster. Little trees grew, the grass was grey, the sky was enveloped with smog. It was the Apocalypse, he knew, but he had endured it all alone. He was terrified every moment of the day, fighting off demons and fellow angels who had gone insane--like himself. He didn't remember what had happened all those years ago, but the one word was stuck in his head like a broken record: Winchester. What did it mean? Why did it matter?

Perhaps the strange name belonged to someone, or it had to mean something. But really, he didn't care anymore. His life was constant death; blood smeared over his hands and face, an angel blade always in his right hand. Anything could be in the next corner, anything could come running at you. And in this dusty, old town that was once called Lawrence, he noted the dead, rotting bodies sprawled throughout the land, and decay was the only thing the angel could smell. But he was used to it, unfortunately. He didn't even remember what the breeze used to smell like a millennia ago.

But he knew something was missing; that something was gone. He remembered God encountering him on a road, telling him that this was all meant to be. He had gone insane after that, wanting to just end it all, but he didn't for his sake. But who was he? What was the Winchester?

Hannah, an angel whose name he had known for nearly his whole life, had found him one day. They journeyed together, fought together. But eventually, one of the demons had gotten her. He watched the light burst from her wound, illuminating the world around her as her Grace was destroyed. He watched the last of her light bleed away into nothingness, and he knew she had joined Purgatory. He sought revenge after that, killing every last demon he knew existed. However, he doubted they were the last.

Sometimes he wondered how he even managed to uphold such vengeance and kill thousands of demons in his path. It took him centuries, and he nearly died over a thousand, but he still lived. Unfortunately. 

He did want to end it all still, but he knew he could possibly be the last hope for Earth-- if it even had "hope". No life grew, and the oxygen was sparse. No birds fluttered through the sky, and no insects consisted throughout the underground. No clean water ran through the spring, and the sun barely even glowed. It was a horrible, horrible world. 

He couldn't even believe he had allowed this to happen. How did this all happen?

Winchester sang throughout his mind at the thought, and for some reason, it made him angry and sad. He hardly felt anything anymore, and it overwhelmed to feel such things. Maybe the people--or whatever they were--meant something to him?

Letting out a sigh, he shook his head, not wanting to think such things. He couldn't allow humanity take over him for it had a long, long time ago. The angel blade warm in his hand, the sudden sound of a rock being kicked made him stop in his tracks, his heart thumping at an increased pace, and his blue eyes had widened.

Something was out there.

"Show yourself," he demanded, his voice deep and rash. But when no one did, he repeated it, his voice louder and darker than before. "Show yourself!" He must have sounded like a crazed man, for a shadow had appeared less than twenty feet away from him. Turning to face who ever moved, he shifted into a defence stance, his hand turning ivory at the force of his grip.

"My, my," the stranger purred, "look who we have here." He couldn't make out what it was. There was no power leaking from him, and his aurora was weak.

"Who are you?" Castiel asked the stranger, a snarl escaping his throat. He had become a savage instinctively--he must have changed so much.

The stranger titled his head, walking closer to have little light touch his face. Still, he didn't know what it was. "Do you not recognize me?" No.

"Should I?" The question must have stumped him, because the stranger's brow rose, surprise hitting his expression. 

"You don't recognize me? At all?" The stranger walked closer, revealing his green eyes. His hair was neatly cropped, and he had a defined jawline. He wore ripped flannel that looked several years old. Nothing seemed to hit him, though.

"I do not," he replied slowly, fidgeting slightly as the stranger continued to get closer until he was only five feet away.

"Look at my face and tell me what you see." A command. But why? Castiel furrowed his brows, desperately wanting to stab him in the heart, but yielded to do so. He wasn't going to hurt him. Yet.

After a moment, Castiel finally obliged and looked at the stranger. He really looked at him, but still, he saw nothing but a broken man. "I see nothing," he admitted.

The stranger only smiled. "Good." What? And as fast as lighting, the stranger was moving, and a flash of silver glinted in his eye. The man was atop of him, his eyes flicking black. A gasp escaped his lips, and he struggled beneath him. But he still clutched the blade.

A fist hit his jaw, and excruciating pain screamed throughout his limbs. He felt something dig into his skin, and he had never felt such pain, except for when a creature had held an angel blade for his own. Thrashing, he managed to throw the stranger off him, and quickly he moved to his feet, looking down at the demon. His eyes were still black, and the radiant power of his dark soul finally got to him. It was familiar, but also the opposite. 

Castiel spat out blood, and took his advantage as the demon still laid on the ground. Jumping atop him, holding the blade to his throat, the angel snarled, "I'm going to kill you."

"Go ahead," he growled, his eyes flicking from black to green once again. He looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but pain and loss. An illusion, he believed. "But," he added, "you won't like the aftermath."

"What do you mean?"

"Your little Winchester boy will be taken to Hell." Winchester. That name... That word...

"What does it mean?" The demon grinned devilishly.

"It means the beginning and the end." Vague and strange. He was still utterly confused.

But before he could say anything else, the demon purred "Audios" and grasped the blade, plunging it through his own heart. The angel gasped, taking a step away. He just killed himself? He needed more! He needed to know what he meant by "the beginning and the end."

He kneeled by the demon's side, shaking him slightly and whispering:

"Wake up." But he didn't. Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn't know why. He was a demon! But... He knew about the Winchester. He knew what it was. "Wake up," he pleaded.

After what seemed like an eternity of sitting there, a hand grasped his arm, causing him to jump back. His eyes wide, he looked curiously at the dead demon who had just... grasped him. 

"How are you alive?" Castiel demanded.

"Cass?" The voice was still rash, but it was softer than before. It was more pleasant and familiar. The demon--or the vessel?--sat up, blinking at him. "Cass." Something alighted in his gaze, and the male stood up, walking towards him.

"What are you doing?" Castiel stood up himself, but didn't move towards him. "Who are you?"

"I'm... Dean?" He sounded confused. Something hit him in his gut, and he wanted to scream and tear his hair out. The name... What was it? Who was it?

"Dean...?" Castiel repeated, furrowing his black brows, his question referring to the "surname".

"Winchester."

Castiel shook his head, muttering "no, no, no" to himself, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Winchester meant something, and it had something to do with him.

"Cass, what's going on?" Dean Winchester walked closer to him, a cautious hand in front of him. "Don't you remember me?"

"No, no, no..." Castiel felt silver tears well in his eyes once again, and he had to blink them away. But then, suddenly as a hand touched his shoulder, a scream escaped his lips and flashes of memories came to him like a blur.

Castiel had raised Dean from perdition; he had saved him multiple times; they had been like brothers at some point in time; Dean Winchester had been possessed by a demon; Sam Winchester had been murdered.

Memories that he had forgotten came back to him in an instant, and he found himself falling, gasping for hair.

"Cass!" Dean screamed, moving to grab him. Castiel just stared at him in awe, remembering everything. They were brothers; they were friends. But he had murdered him--no, the demon inside him. But he was.. back? Alive? How could this be?

"H-how can you b-be alive?" Castiel asked him, still not allowing the Winchester touch him.

"I don't know..." Dean whispered. "There was a bright light and a voice calling to me. It was so familiar, but I couldn't decipher what it was. I could have sworn it was God, but that'd be bullshit, considering he's done nothing for us. But then I considered it being you that was speaking to me, and after a moment, a blast of energy went through me and then I was back. Everything was normal--well, not completely. This world is... it's different. I don't recognize anything, and no one was alive except for 'em angels."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, considering his words. He must be telling the truth, yes? Why would Nikolai be tricking him now after so many years? Cass knew that this was him--somehow.

"And when I walked for thousands of miles," Dean continued, "I heard your voice. I followed it until, well, now..." He then furrowed his brows and looked around. "Where's Sammy?"

Shit. What could he tell him? Dean would be furious, upset... He'd probably go mad and hate Castiel for not protecting him. But was it truly his fault for Sammy dying? Maybe--possibly. He wasn't quick enough to stop Nikolai from murdering him, but he could have tried--and he didn't.

"Uh," Cass tried, looking away, his blue eyes closing. 

"Cass?" 

"He's gone," he finally said after a minute, still not looking at the boy.

Dean stumbled back a step, cursing under his breath. "You're lying!"

Cass then looked up, his gaze hardening. "You really think I'd lie about this? About Sam dying? Who do you think I am, Dean? You were gone for a millennia, and Sam died all those years ago, trying to save you from that demonic being! But you know what? I didn't even try to save him, but I did try to kill Nikolai. But the thought of another Winchester dying set me off and he got away."

Dean sucked in a long breath, silver tears running down his stubbled cheeks. "You're so sure about that? You actually tried to kill him, yet you didn't try to save my brother?"

"What could I do, Dean?" Cass asked him, tilting his head. "What could I possibly do to save him?"

"You could fight! You could have killed me..." His words trailed off, turning into a weak sob.

"Killed you? I couldn't let you die, Dean! I couldn't let another Winchester die. You mean too much to me!"

"Then why didn't you save him?" Dean snapped, his words deadly.

Cass sighed, shaking his head. How could he ever get through to this boy? "Because, Dean. Sometimes not even an angel can save the weak."


End file.
